Destination, Unknown
by notevenifyoukillme
Summary: When Buffy was brought back to life her memories were not completely intact. With no memory of being the Slayer, she heads for home in L.A. Befriended by the seemingly innocent Lilah, Buffy is taught of new powers and an enemy she never knew she had.
1. Whispers of the Dead

**Authors' Note: **I do not own BtVs or AtS, they are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.  
Okay, I wrote down this story on a whim. The idea just jumped out at me out of nowhere, but I liked it. The chapters will vary in size a lot, but I'll try to balance it out. Oh, and (for my own writing convenience) Darla won't return. Hate to mess with a good storyline, but it complicates things too much.

* * *

The first thing Buffy felt when she woke up was fabric; soft, velvet fabric. The first thing she smelled was something like rotting flesh. The first thing she heard was scratching, and the first thing she tasted was bitter. Her first thought was about what she was wearing.

_'My God, I do _not _do black. Who put me in black? Someone is going to pay for this.'_

The last thing Buffy remembered she had been discussing the dance with her friends at Hemery, she figured she must have blacked out. Maybe this was some kind of practical joke Jeffrey was playing on her. He always did have a warped sense of humour.

Buffy noted that she was trapped in what seemed to be a wooden box; the lining caressing her face was velvet and the box itself was about a foot larger than she was. Outside was silent aside from the uneasy scratching and she wondered where she was. The box smelled horrible, like something had died in it. One of her friends - Cassandra, she thought it was - had a dad who made coffins. Maybe they'd rigged her up in one as a joke.

_'Man, I am going to _kill_ Jeffrey_,' she thought. Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Buffy rapped on the wood above her. "Okay guys! Ha ha, very funny!" she laughed uneasily, "You can let me out now!"

With no response but the scratching on the outside of the box, Buffy began to panic. "Okay guys! Seriously! This isn't funny!" she knocked on the wood again and again, raising her voice to a yell. "GUYS, LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW. I THINK THE AIR IS RUNNING OUT."

_'Oh, crap.' _She was going to have to break her way out of this thing. Was she _strong _enough to break her way out? She scratched manically on the velvet brushing her face and dug her shortened and less polished nails into the wood fibres above it.

"You guys_ cut my nails?_" she screeched. "_Cassandra_, are you there too? I'm going to kill you guys!"

Digging into the wood fibres, Buffy found that they crumbled easily under her grasp; the box must have been rigged for an easy escape.

Expecting rays of light to pour in or at the very least fresh air, Buffy was choked by an avalanche of dirt that poured through the hole into the box as well as her mouth and eyes. The box shifted and she was stuck on a diagonal slant. Now she was _really _scared.

She was in a coffin. The thought circled in her mind as she choked and spluttered on the dirt and tried to breathe.

Doing what her instincts told her, Buffy shoved herself headfirst through the hole that she had made and, placing her feet on the bottom of the makeshift coffin and thinking sadly of what the dirt would do to her hair, used all of her strength to propel herself towards the surface. Temporarily fearing that someone had buried her upside down she was relieved by the weight of the dirt easing off of her shoulders as she felt wind brush her hand as it surfaced just before the rest of her.

Still terrified, the fifteen year old girl pulled herself out of the dirt. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she savoured the feeling of the ground underneath instead of on top of her. Digging her nails into the dirt once more she placed her cheek on the cool green grass and choked out relieved gasps. That was the most traumatic thing she had ever experienced. Except for that time someone asked her if she had gotten her shoes second hand.

Okay, second most traumatic.

Standing up, Buffy realised two things:

One: It was night time.

Two: her eyesight hadn't been clouded by the dirt, it had been impaired. Even with the fresh air all around her and tears streaming down her face washing away all of the dirt, she was still half blind.  
With absolutely no idea what to do Buffy called out to her parents, hoping desperately that they were nearby.

"Mom?" she called. "Dad?"

No response.

"Joyce? Hank?"

Still no response.

"Anyone?" Her voice was hoarse and it sounded different to her. Older, maybe? Looking down she noticed that she was also taller, if only marginally. She was skinnier, too. Not malnourished, but matured. How long had she been in that box?

Trying to analyse her location (which would have been difficult even without her crappy geography grade), Buffy removed the high heels hurting her ankles and looked around. All that she saw in her periphery were trees, and in front of her she could see a forest with flames fanning out on the horizon. This definitely didn't feel like L.A.

Noticing something small in the grass, Buffy laid her eyes on what appeared to be a tomb stone.

_'Buffy Anne Summers,_

_Beloved daughter and friend,_

_She saved the world_

_A lot_

_1981 - 2001'_

Crouching down onto her knees, Buffy brushed her fingers against her name and felt her chest tighten with fear.

"Okay!" she yelled. "I get it! Big joke! Now someone TELL ME WHAT I'M DOING HERE!"

A thousand unanswered questions swirled in Buffys' head. Why did it say it was 2001? As far as she knew it was 1996. Why did it say she was dead? And _WHY _did it say that she had 'saved the world a lot'? That was ridiculous. Saved the world from what? Fashion victims? Sure, she did her bit, but she hadn't saved the world. There were still plenty of badly dressed girls out there for her to help.

Beginning to hyperventilate, Buffy paced around her apparent grave and tried to decide on a course of action. What was she going to do?

"Where _am _I?" she asked the forest.

Stumbling through trees for several minutes, Buffy eventually found a road and managed to flag down a taxi. "Take me to L.A.," she told the driver as she jumped in.

"L.A.? That's quite a distance, you sure you can pay?" the pretty brunette taxi driver asked her.

"Distance? Where am I?"

"Sunnydale."

"Never heard of it."

The lady laughed good-naturedly – something that was definitely out of character for people in L.A., "Well that's a problem, seeing as you're there." Eyeing the shoes still in Buffys' hand, she said, "Look, I'll take you to the bus depot and give you fare to get to L.A. if you give me those shoes."

"Great!" Buffy grinned, handing over the shoes with gusto. This _must_ have been a weird town, if taxi drivers would accept shoes as payment. "So, what's Sunnydale?" she asked.

Apparently Sunnydale was a town famed for odd occurrences and high mortality rates. Amy, the taxi driver, told her that she had only been living in Sunnydale for a few months but assured her that leaving as soon as possible was the right thing to do.

"This place is weird. The houses are cheap, the pay is good and for the most part the people are nice, but..." she paused, shuddering, "It's just a messed up place. Bad things happen and there's no discrimination: bad things happen to_ everyone._"

"Yeah, I get that vibe," _from the fact that I woke up in a coffin. _Hoping she didn't sound too crazy, Buffy hesitantly asked what year it was.

"2001 sweetie," the taxi driver grinned; Buffy seemed to amuse her more than anything. "So what's with the crazy geddup? S'not Halloween yet, y'know."

"Uh, funeral," Buffy replied uncertainly.

The taxi driver obviously didn't want to touch on a sensitive subject and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

Once they arrived at the depot the driver gave Buffy bus fare and instructions on how to get herself to L.A. Buffy thanked the girl and waited at the bus depot for the 363 to arrive.

Buffy resented the time she spent waiting for the bus and begged it to come sooner, there was only so much time she could spend thinking about this. It was 2001. Where had all those years gone?

_And why didn't she remember them?_

[]

Angel stood near Fred uncomfortably, dreading the speech he was going to have to make. "Fred, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he seated himself next to her.

"Uh-huh. Okay," Fred closed her book and looked at Angel hopefully. Noticing the look on Angels' face, she broke the silence. "Is this about how you're not like other men, what with that curse and all, and how you're really fond of me but that's as far as it goes?"

Angel was inwardly pleased that he didn't have to stutter through the whole awkward speech himself. "Um...Yeah."

"Cordelia explained it to me," Fred elaborated, "She said you'd probably just screw it up," she smiled.

"She did, did she?" he joked, then admitted sombrely; "Well, she's probably right."

Looking down, Fred sighed. "What?" Angel asked.

"It's like something out of Fitzgerald: the man who can have everything but love," she said wistfully. "Well, maybe in some ways you're better off, because love is... Well, in a way it's everything. It's also heartache and disappointment... And those are good things to avoid."

Angel then realised that he had never mentioned Buffy to Fred. After a pregnant pause he began with, "You know, I loved a girl once."

"R-Really?" Fred asked, trying to sound politely interested.

"Yeah."

"Who is she?"

"She was a Slayer."

"Was?" Fred enquired, then realised embarrassedly, "Oh, you mean she's..."

Angel looked down, his brow creasing and his shoulders hunching, "She died a few months ago. That's why I – why I left so suddenly."

"Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, for your loss..."

The two sat in silence before Fred plucked up the courage to ask Angel what her name was.

"Buffy."

* * *

First chapter posted!  
The last scene is from Carpe Noctum, only instead of Cordelia running out and informing Angel that Buffys' alive he decides to Fred that she exists.

If you liked it, let me know; review? :D  
Thanks for reading!


	2. What I've Been

I give you, the second chapter! I wrote extra fast because of all the comments I got :D  
I'm using this story as an excuse not to watch the last two episodes of Angel, because then the show will be over and I might have to consider taking up some sort of hobby. ;)  
I'm having so much fun writing this, and thank you so much everyone who left me reviews; it makes me happier than what should probably be considered as healthy.  
Also, I'm sorry that the chapters are so short, they vary as the story goes along.

* * *

As Buffy stood in the rain and gazed longingly into the house filled with life and laughter, she had never felt so empty. The wind whipped her face, disallowing even second-hand warmth spared from the warmth emanating within what was once her home.

_"Hi, I'm Buffy," Buffy had said timidly as a middle-aged woman answered the front door. "Sorry for interrupting, but... Uh -" _

_"I'm sorry dear, I don't have any money to spare," the woman interrupted politely whilst eyeing her clothes critically._

_Buffys' eyes widened and she was overcome with embarrassment, "Oh, no! I'm not asking for money," she assured the woman, " I... I was wondering... How long have you lived here?" _

_The woman seemed taken aback by the question, but didn't hesitate in answering, "Since mid '97, dear," laughter boomed from within the house, disrupting the womans' chain of thought, "No Greg!" she laughed, "Watch the lamp!" _

_Buffy stood awkwardly, waiting for a further explanation. "Why did the people before you move?" _

_The woman turned her head back to Buffy, annoyed that she hadn't left but not yet enough to be impolite, "Their __daughter got into some trouble and the mother and father divorced."_

_Buffys' shock was evident on her face as the woman continued, "Horrible child, burned down the local high school gymnasium, it was a terrible mess for them. Packed up and left within a week; terrible embarrassment for the family."_

_"Do you have an address for them, or a way to get one?" Buffy asked more sharply than she had intended. _

_The woman looked offended, "No. We don't get left with any of that, and I don't know that the realtor does either, not that I remember his name anyway." _

_"I... Thank you," Buffy stuttered, feeling guilty for snapping. _

_The woman's expression softened, "Are you alright? Look, if you're low on money I'd go to this location," the woman wrote down an address on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "That's a cheap hotel. Not too dirty. Reasonable price, too." _

_"Thank you," Buffy repeated, still in shock. The piece of paper in hand, she walked down the street and placed herself onto the sidewalk, watching the household and reliving her most recent (and apparently very outdated) memories._

Buffy trudged away from the suburban street in search of a payphone and directory assistance. Using the remainder of her bus money, she inserted coins into a payphone on a street corner and requested the directions to the address she had been given.

Buffy had had a lot of time to think while travelling to L.A. She realised that she must be twenty years old now, and wondered where she lived. She flirted with the idea that she may have lived in Sunnydale, but couldn't find any evidential proof either way. In the end L.A. was all she knew, regardless of her current home.

"Directory assistance, how may I help you?" a young woman chorused in an overly pleasant voice.

"Hi, I was wondering how to get to," Buffy glanced down at the sheet of paper, "The John & Johnson Hotel from Shepparton Place?"

"Are you using public transport or driving?"

"Walking," she laughed nervously.

"Alright," typing sounded in the background, "Actually, it's a pretty short distance. Can you see the highway?" Buffy replied that she could. "Okay, are you on the right side of the road or the left?"

"Left."

"Walk with the traffic until you reach the first street, cross the road and if you walk about five hundred metres then you should see it."

Buffy thanked the woman and hung up the receiver, following her directions.

Although Buffy didn't know it, seated on a bench across the road a woman was watching her intently under the pretence of reading news headlines flashing behind her. The woman was thin with brown hair and her eyes sparkled with a determined malice that constantly warned those around her that she would stop at nothing to accomplish her goals. Narrowing her eyes, the woman tried to discern whether this was the famed Slayer or not. She was certainly looking worse for wear and lost, both of those things pointing to Lilahs' favourite modus operandi: vulnerable.

Lilah pulled out a mobile and began to record the suspected Slayer, sending the live link to someone in the Angel archives. If this was the right Slayer she could definitely use her to her own advantage.

After thirty seconds her recording cut off and her mobile began to ring,

"Is it her?" Lilah demanded.

Adam, a new employee at Wolfram & Hart, sounded nervous, "Uh, there's a definite match, but -"  
"But what?"

"We have it on our records that she died one hundred and," he paused, "forty eight days ago."

Lilah smiled, "Zombie?"

"She doesn't bear the physical characteristics, but she looks pretty lifeless," Adam said with more confidence.

"So... Resurrection? Is it possible?" Lilah liked this Slayer so far.

"Her death was mystical, so... With the right tools, yeah. But she'd need a lot of firepower to pull it off. This girl's got a powerful friend."

"Any records?"

"No, not as such."

"Get some," Lilah commanded.

"What are you going to do? She looks pretty lost."

Lilah smirked, "I'll just have to guide her."

Hanging up, she followed behind the Slayer. She stayed fifty metres or so behind, making sure that she was inconspicuous.

Buffy stopped outside of The John & Johnson Hotel. Why had she even found this place? She had no money and had no idea if she had any skills, was she in college? Was she good at anything?

Sighing, Buffy headed towards a park across the road; a bench would have to do for the night. In the morning she would just have to steal some clothes. Averse as she was to theft, she didn't see any other options. The only things she could take solace in were that her eyesight had recovered and her hearing was more acute than it had ever been.

Lilah watched in amusement as the Slayer laid herself down on a bench. This girl could do anything she wanted, steal whatever she desired, simple as anything, and yet she chose to sleep on a bench; this was Lilahs' time to strike. Applying her most innocuous lipstick and reorganising her face into a (somewhat unfamiliar) look of concern, Lilah approached Buffy and tapped her on the shoulder.

The Slayers' eyes popped open and she looked confused. "I'm sorry, am I not supposed to be here?"

"No, no sweetie," Lilah chimed, "I was just wondering if you were alright. I don't usually do this," she smiled openly, "But you remind me of my little sister. Why aren't you sleeping at home?"

Buffy was taken aback by this exceedingly friendly woman. "I... I don't know where it is," she sat up, motioning for the woman to sit next to her. The woman sat gently beside her, handing Buffy her black scarf. Buffy took it gratefully and laughingly said "I think I've had enough black to last me for a lifetime."

The woman laughed, it was a light and inviting sound. "What do you mean you don't know where your home is? Has your family been in some trouble?"

Buffy felt a pang of longing for her mother and father. "I don't know where they are, either."

She hesitated for fear of sounding crazy.

The woman rested her hand on Buffys' arm. She had smooth hands, obviously moisturised very well. "Would you like to come home with me? I have a spare bedroom; you'd be no trouble there."

Buffy wanted to be modest, but couldn't bear the thought of sleeping on a bench. "Really? That'd be so great," she gushed, "I'd pay you back, I mean, I can get a job and earn some money and pay you, I don't have any right now but I can make some. I'm Buffy, by the way."

The woman grinned, showing all of her teeth. "I'm Lilah."

Lilah pulled Buffy to her feet and dialled for a car to pick her up. This was turning out much better than she could have hoped. "Hi, it's Lilah. Could you please send a car for me?" Lilah used sugar-sweet manners to convince this girl of her sincerity. Adam sounded confused.

"Yeah, where do you want it? And why are you being polite?"

Lilah chose to ignore the second part of Adams' question, asking him to send a car to the John & Johnson Hotel.

"Wow. Wicked phone," Buffy commented. It was small with a camera in the back, and Lilah appeared to be simply touching the screen to use it.

Lilah smiled again - God, her cheeks were getting sore, "You like it?"

"Yeah. I've never seen anything like it."

"I can get you one, if you'd like."

Buffy withdrew, between the place to stay and the phone she would definitely be too indebted to this woman if she accepted. "No, no, I'm good. Not like I've got anyone to call, anyway."

Lilah spotted the limousine pulling up and, directed Buffy - who was gawking at their mode of transportation - into the backseat, "Well, now you've got me," she winked.

Something in Buffy screamed for her not to go home with the woman she had just met (and another more predominant part yelled back petulantly that she could take care of herself), but between a stranger and a bench, she was decidedly pro-stranger. Instead of following her instincts and running, Buffy smiled timidly. She wondered why this woman thought she was special. Maybe she had been.

* * *

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.  
If you liked it, let me know? Reviews make me write faster. :D


	3. May I Help You?

Okay, here's the third chapter. Thanks for all of your reviews, favouriting, alerting &etc. it makes me immeasurably happy (once again bringing my sanity into question).  
This chapter is dedicated to my friend Zoe, who listens to all of my chapters and ideas patiently, even when I get off track and just babble about Angel and Buffy, heeh.  
Sorry that my chapters have been pretty short, chapter four is longer to make up for it. :D  
To clarify; the Scoobies aren't going to be my focal point right now, I'll just check in on them every so often.  
Enough babbling, onto the story. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Back in Sunnydale.  
One day after resurrection.  
Xander and Anya's apartment._

The four of them sat at the table. Tara was holding Willows' hand and Anya was holding Xanders. Dawn was safely with Spike back at the Summers' residence.

"We're all upset that it didn't work, Wil," Xander stated gently, "But you can't blame yourself. We did all that we could."

"With the Buffy-bot gone," Tara began, "How are we supposed to pretend that Buffys' still alive?"

"I told you that I'll use a spell to repair it," Willow snapped. Tara looked dejected and Willows' face softened as she felt a rush of guilt. She put her palm against Taras' cheek. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - I just, what with Buffy," she stammered, "I'm just sorry."

Tara smiled half-heartedly. "It's okay."

"So are we going to be using the Buffy-bot for the rest of our lives? What about the fact that it doesn't age?" Anya pressed. "Will you modify it, Willow?"

Willow, annoyed by any words that came out of Anya's mouth lately, replied, "Yeah, I guess. I'm not thinking that far ahead."

"Are you_ sure_ that there's nothing else we can do to bring Buffy back?" Anya asked for the millionth time that night.

"Yes Ahn, there's nothing we can do," Xander murmured, again for the millionth time.

"I'll keep researching, but yeah, I think this is the end of the line on the resurrection spells," Willow sighed.

Xander closed his eyes for a moment, imagining a beautiful, glowing Buffy at the pearly gates of heaven where she deserved to be. "I guess we just have to believe that she's in a better place."

[]

Buffy stood in front the mirror in the fancy apartment, examining herself up close for the first time. Her hair was damp from the shower and much longer than she remembered. For five years older, she didn't look that much worse for wear. She had no new scars that she could see, except for a crescent moon on her neck. The thought of something biting her there made her shudder.

Stepping into some tight-fitting jeans and a plain brown tee that Lilah had given her, Buffy put her hair up and critiqued herself in a full-length mirror.

"Huh, you don't clean up so bad," she told her reflection, primping.

"Buffy?" a voice called from the kitchen, distracting her.

"How long has it been since you've eaten something?" Lilah enquired, her voice dripping in false maternal concern that sickened her a little.

"...A while." Buffy hadn't eaten anything since she'd woken up in her coffin, and since she had a five year gap in her memory (and didn't _look_ like she ate a lot) she wasn't exactly sure how long it had been. She had decided that tonight she would ask Lilah to find out about her past. She needed to know what had happened to everyone she cared about, and Lilah seemed important enough to help her. Anyone who had a limousine at their disposal at all hours of the night must have the potential to help her.

The ladies didn't know it, but as they sat down to dinner they both had an agenda they had planned to manoeuvre during the course of the meal.

Buffy seated herself awkwardly on the far side of the table, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to Lilah.

"Buffy?" Lilah said, handing her a bowl which Buffy took gratefully. "There's some more food to come, do you like lasagne?" Buffy nodded enthusiastically, unsure of whether she was playing both Hansel and Gretel in this story. She was eating enough for the both of them, that was for sure.

By the time Lilah had sat down and picked up her spoon Buffy had already finished half of her soup. Lilah smiled, obviously impressed. "Wow, you must be hungry."

Buffy looked up from her bowl, a red ring of soup around her lips. Lilah found a small mirror in her bag and held it in front of Buffys' face. Buffy chuckled, wiping the soup away quickly. "Sorry," she murmured, "Messy eater."

"That's alright," Lilah said, deciding that it was time to begin getting some answers. "So Buffy, tell me if I'm prying, but why are you separated from your family?"

_Oh, crap. _Buffy had no answer to that. She hesitantly tried the truth on for size. "Lilah, do you believe in things that... Can't be explained?"

_Yes! _Lilah congratulated herself. She couldn't believe how easily this girl was going to spill her darkest secret. The moral were always so gullible. The Senior Partners would be _very _impressed that Lilah had gained the trust of a Slayer so quickly. She looked at Buffy and leaned in conspiratorially. "Yeah, I do. I've seen things you won't believe... But I guess you have too, huh?"

"Well, sort of. I lost my family because," she tried to explain right, "I... Woke up one day. And I was different," she left out the part about the coffin, "And my family wasn't there anymore. I didn't know where they were, or what had happened to me."

Lilah _thought_ the girl had just admitted to her that she been called and her family had left her. "That must have been hard."

Buffy nodded, tears falling. "I need help finding them. Do you think that you could help me?"

Lilah put her hand over Buffys' and nodded slowly. "You can come to work with me tomorrow. We'll track them down in no time. So, how did _you_ change?" Pressing a button in her pocket, Lilah began to record the conversation.

Buffy wondered how to respond to this, she couldn't say that she had woken up five years in the future. Or, maybe she could. "If I tell you, you've got to promise not to ship me off to a loony bin."

"Of course sweetie, you have my word."

Buffy sucked in a deep breath, "Well, I woke up yesterday night and..."

_"What do you mean she doesn't know she's the Slayer?"_ Adam hissed through the phone disbelievingly.

"I mean that she doesn't know that she's the Slayer. I sit her down, have a talk to her and instead of getting 'Of course I'll kill Angel for you!' I get 'Lilah, I don't remember anything about the last five years, help me find my mommy!'," Lilah sighed, kicking a desk in her bedroom. It was midnight and the Slayer had fallen asleep almost as soon as she had finished eating the entire contents of Lilahs' fridge.

_"I was in a coffin. I clawed my way out," Buffy had choked out, "And my tombstone said that it was 2001. My last memory is from 1996, and I'd never even _heard _of Sunnydale." Buffy laid her head down on the table, sobbing violently. She hadn't let herself think about how alone she was right now before this; it had just been 'get from point A to point B and you'll be fine'. Now she was in a stranger's house bawling her eyes out and no memory of the past five years of her life_ or_ how she had ended up in a coffin. This was what she would have called '_the bottom'.

_Lifting her head, she continued to vent, "How did I even end up in a coffin? It doesn't make sense, none of it makes_ SENSE."

_Buffy stood up and in her anger, punched Lilahs' kitchen wall. Lilah cringed as she watched the Slayers' fist plough through her expensive paint job._

_Buffy, dumbstruck by her own strength, pulled her now-bloodied fist out. "I'm sorry," she apologised, then, examining the wall said, "Wow. Weak wall."_

_"Or strong girl," Lilah suggested._

_Buffy shook her head, "Cheerleading kept me fit. It never made me_ this_ strong, though."_

_"Could it be something else?" Lilah hinted, hoping that Buffy was just keeping quiet about being a Slayer._

_"No..." Buffy said, "Unless I worked out a lot... Which it feels like I did: that must be it."_

_"Uh, yeah," Lilah had receded, inwardly fuming. "I think the lasagne sounds ready, want some?"_

"Well," Adam said, "You have fun with that. A resurrected Slayer who doesn't even know she's a Slayer," he chuckled, "_Now_ I've seen everything."

"Shut up," Lilah sighed, preparing to slam down the phone.

"Oh, and I'm curious; are you going to tell her she's the Slayer?"

"Yes, I am. As far as she'll know, I'm her official Watcher."

Adam began to laugh and Lilah slammed down the phone.

Buffy warmed quickly in the floral sheets she was tucked into. It was certainly the ugliest bed cover she had ever seen, but it sure beat a bench. Buffy thought about dinner and how Lilah had promised to help her. She hadn't_ really_ let herself think about the fact that she was alone five years in the future; but tucked into those ugly floral sheets, she shuddered in fear and wept for the loss of the life she knew. She wept all night, knowing that she had barely scratched the surface of all that she was feeling.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.  
If you liked, let me know! :D


	4. Missing Pieces

Hello everyone! Or, the several people who actually read this faithfully so far. *Waves*  
This chapter is longer than the others, sorry for keeping them so short.  
Read and enjoy!  
This episode is set just after the Angel episode Fredless, which is why Angel is thinking about Fred and belonging (thanks Queen Obvious).  
Oh, and I haven't said it in a few chapters (the wonders of denial) but I in no way own BtVs or AtS, they are solely the property of Joss Whedon. Con sarnit.  
Oh, and thank you _so_ much everyone that's commented and reviewed so far. It makes my day - sadly enough.  


* * *

It was past midnight and his friends were long asleep when Angel left the hotel to go for a walk. He travelled down the street and into a park where he sometimes liked to go to think alone. Fred was back and safe, parting with her parents on good terms; Angel was glad for her. He briefly thought about how his relationship with his parents had ended... About as well as their lives.

Angel seated himself on a bench and thought about belonging. Fred had wanted to leave because she didn't belong, but she was back because she did. She fit. Angel had so rarely fit anywhere.

As a young man he had suited the taverns just fine, wasting his life with the other scum of the town.

As Angelus he had simply killed who was necessary to fit anywhere he pleased, just like any other bloodthirsty vampire.

Soulful vampire, he had belonged first in the alleys with the rats, trying to escape what he had done. He hadn't fit anywhere. He hadn't deserved to.

He remembered the night he had met Whistler, the night that had reanimated him; given him meaning again.

_No_, he corrected himself, the next day had given his life meaning again. _She_ had given his life meaning again. He felt hollow warmth in his chest at the thought of Buffy.

_'The good always die young,' _Darla had told him once, referring to his turning and his destiny as the best and vilest killer to stalk the earth for millennia. Never had he felt the impact of those words more severely than that moment.

Thinking of Buffy always inspired mixed feelings of guilt, nostalgia and sorrow in Angel. He loved her, he missed her, but he could carry on. He could live without her, even if it hurt.

Because he fit.

*

Lilah walked down the street, needing some fresh air to decide how to approach her unexpected Slayer problem. Aware of how close her current residence was to Angels' hotel, she wasn't surprised to see him sitting in the park midway between the two buildings.

Angel sat with his back to her, and she saw him shift uncomfortably on the bench as she approached. She had been careful to shower after dining with Buffy so that there was no trace scent left on her, just in case.

"Feelin' lonely?" she asked flippantly, taking a seat next to him.

"Feelin' hungry," Angel replied menacingly, not bothering to look at her.

"Come now, haven't we done that dance already?" Lilah tutted.

Angel finally looked at her. "Well, maybe I need a lunch break."

Lilah stared intently at Angel and wondered idly whether she had the ability to intimidate him. She doubted that_. But,_ she reminded herself_, the rules are about to change_. She would train the Slayer (the abbreviated curriculum, of course), focusing on Angelus, Darla, Drusilla and William the Bloody. She would repeat and repeat every gruesome detail of Angelus' most heinous murders to the girl until it was so deeply ingrained into her mind that Angels' soul would do little to stem the disgust and stifle the recollection of every horrible thing he ever did.

In a matter of time Lilah would send the Slayer after Angel, and his reaction could go one of two ways; he would either realise that it was really Buffy - in which case his fighting back would be unlikely and she would kill him - or he would think that she was a creation of Wolfram & Hart and he would fight back, but from the records saying that this Slayer had sent him to hell before, she would best his skill, and she would kill him. The seemingly inevitable outcome pleased her.

"What do you _want_, Lilah?" Angel asked, clearly antagonised by her presence.

"I hear that your Slayer died a few months ago," she stated.

Angel had his hand around her throat more quickly than she had thought possible, not moving any muscles but those in his arms. "You are not allowed to_ talk_ about Buffy," he spat, tightening his grip considerably.

"Okay, okay," Lilah choked out, holding her hands up in surrender, "Just checking if the office gossip is on the mark, which I'm thinking," she clawed at his hand in a feeble attempt to pry it away, "is a yes."

Angel released Lilahs' throat and stormed away. She felt satisfied with the reaction she had induced and the bruise on her throat that would start as a good beginning for the Slayers' lessons on Angelus.

*

_Back in Sunnydale.  
__Three days after resurrection.  
__The flooded basement. _

Dawn really hated it without Giles. Everything felt more disorganised without a daily dose of tweed to make everyone feel more secure about their own fashion sense. Floating a makeshift paper boat in the flooded basement, Dawn tried not to think about how lonely she was; making light of the situation made it easier for all of them.

This particular morning Dawn had woken up early and pulled out a piece of paper from her desk. She had folded it the exact way that Buffy had taught her (which, in point of fact, was wrong) and taken it downstairs to send it on its maiden voyage.

As Dawn floated that little boat on the lake that was now their basement, she thought about resurrection spells. She wondered if she could bring Buffy back, like she had tried to with her mother. Spike would_ definitely_ help her with this one; he loved Buffy as much as she did. She could get her hands on the books from the Magic Box tonight, and her and Spike could have the whole thing planned in a week, tops.

"Dawn?" Tara called, taking light steps down the stairs; Tara always managed to look graceful. "Are you up?"

"Yeah, I'm down here," Dawn replied.

Tara opened the basement door, looking bewildered. "Hi sweetie, do you want some pancakes for breakfast?"

Dawn grinned. She loved Tara's pancakes. "Yeah!"

"Sssshh," Tara giggled, "Willow's classes don't start until the afternoon which means she can sleep in, and you know what she's like when she's woken up early," Tara winked.

Dawn walked up the stairs and Tara put her arm around her, "So do you want normal shapes or funny shapes?" she asked, leading Dawn into the kitchen.

"Funny shapes."

"You look happy today," Tara observed. She was extremely relieved seeing Dawn smile; her smiles had been pretty scarce since Buffys' death.

"I am," Dawn replied, grabbing the pancake batter from the cupboard for Tara.

"Why would that be? Did you get Willow to make you another lucky charm for a maths test?"

"No," Dawn laughed, remembering that incident. "I just...know what I have to do now," she kept her voice light so as not to raise suspicion.

"Your homework?" Tara joked, pouring the pancake batter messily onto the grill.

Dawn stuck her tongue out. "_No_."

*

If Buffy thought that she had felt out of place at Lilahs' fancy apartment, it was _nothing_ to how out of place she felt at '_Wolfram & Hart: Attorneys at Law'. _Everyone she saw was dressed to kill, and she had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn't too much of an exaggeration judging by the amount of security guarding the building.

"Hey Lilah, how are we going to find my mom?" Buffy asked, her hands placed in her pockets nervously. Still in her tight jeans and brown tee, Buffy supposed that she may as well have been in rags; she wouldn't have been _too_ much more incongruous.

Lilah marched - that was the only word Buffy could use accurately, 'march' - into the building, flashing cards and speaking several languages, some which didn't sound human (matching several guards). They took the elevator to the second floor where Lilah led Buffy into a room with a young man sitting at a computer and several red books next to him. The man was too preoccupied to notice the two women entering the room, and Lilah smacked him over the head with a book to get his attention.

"Lilah," he said, removing a previously invisible earpiece, "What can I do for you? The Fyarl demons are pretty feisty at the moment, if you need a painful hit. Recon's pretty keen to get out, too. Two birds; one stone."

Buffy was unsure of whether this man was joking or not, until Lilah burst out laughing.

"Oh Adam, you can be so odd sometimes," Lilah chortled, then grabbing Buffys' arm, "Adam, this is _Buffy_," she tried to hint with her eyes that Buffy was the Slayer they had spoken about, "she's staying with me at the moment."

"Oh. _Oh,_" he murmured knowingly. He stood up to shake Buffys' hand and she was immediately intimidated by his towering over her. She wearily took his hand and shook it.

Wincing in pain, Adam cradled his hand. It sounded like something had broken. "Wow, you've got a pretty strong one here Lilah," he said lightly whilst really considering several unpleasant bone-crushing scenarios to repay Lilah for his injury.

"Yeah, she is. Look, her mother has gone M.I.A. and we need to find her, can you help Buffy while I get some paperwork done? Show her into my office once you two are finished," Lilah directed and walked out the door.

Buffy was eager to find her mother and rushed down next to Adam, who shifted his hand instinctively away from the very pretty bone-crushing girl.

"Okay, give me a name and I promise we can find whoever you're looking for," Adam said. "You want to find Osama? He's been pretty fun to track."

"Er, I'll be okay thanks," she said, laughinging nervously.

Adam sighed in mock disappointment, "Fine, fine. Who you lookin' for?"

Buffy tried to think of other people she wanted to find, but could only envision her parents. "Uh, Joyce Summers. Hank Summers, too."

Adams' fingers flew across the keyboard with expert accuracy.

"Hank Summers is..." Adam read, "In Spain. Has been for," he scrolled down, "A year or so. It looks like he's taken up permanent residence with a woman."

"Who is -"

"It's not Joyce Summers," he said bluntly, "Do you have a sister?"

Buffy looked at him confusedly, "No. Why?"

Adam chuckled, "The age difference."

Buffy frowned unhappily. Her father was in Spain with some woman young enough to be her sister, and had been for some time. Did he write to her? Did he contact her? Were he and Buffys' mom still friends?

"Joyce Summers," she repeated.

"Alrighty," his fingers flew across the keyboard again, "Joyce..." his voice dropped off, "Married to Hank Summers, Mother of Buffy Summers?"

"...Yeah, that's her. What's it say?" Buffy asked cautiously.

Adam placed his good hand over Buffys' comfortingly, "I don't know if you want to see this. You could come back another day, if you wanted. Lilah wouldn't mind."

"See what? No, I want to see now. Where's my mom?"

Adam sighed, looking unhappy. "Restfield cemetery, Sunnydale."

Buffy looked at him strangely, "Wait, why is she -?"

Understanding gripped her and her chest clenched with grief and tears sprung into her eyes. "No, she isn't. She's healthy! She never smoked, she never drank. She can't be there!" Buffy yelled at Adam. "Show me the screen."

Adam obliged, turning the screen to face Buffy. A newspaper article was on the screen; it looked like advertisements. Buffy realised that she was looking at the obituaries, and that one article was the focal point.

'_Today we mourn the loss of Joyce Summers,  
__Beloved friend and mother,  
__Our prayers for Buffy Summers, daughter of Joyce.  
__Goodbye Joyce,  
__Your love and kindness will live on forever.'_

This article infuriated Buffy. It was short and tacky, and didn't do her mother justice. It was dated a year ago.

"Does... Does it say how?" she asked hoarsely.

Three seconds later Adam had opened a different window. It looked like the files were taken from the morgues' private account.

"It was... an aneurysm. She had had a tumour some months earlier, and aneurysms are always a risk when removing a tumour."

Buffys' top lip quivered as she tried to speak, "D-Did - Did it hurt?"

Adam hadn't been working at Wolfram & Hart for very long, but he had already picked up on most of the ground rules. One of them was to know when to lie. Pretending to type some more, Adam said; "No. She would have lapsed into unconsciousness and then just... Gone."

Buffy simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

After sitting for some minutes like this, her tears flowing silently, she asked Adam where the bathroom was and made her way there.

The whole second floor thought a banshee had invaded the bathrooms.

"Her mom's dead," Adam told Lilah several hours later. "What do you _expect_? 'Damn, okay, bye'? Of course she's going to cry. Just because you hated_ your_ mother, doesn't mean we all do."

"She didn't have to put the whole floor on banshee alert!" Lilah hissed vehemently, indicating to the flashing blue light in the hallway.

"Lilah, think about it. This girl has clawed her way out of her own coffin, seen her own tombstone and from_ that _realised that she was five years into the future, her fathers' in Spain with someone young enough to be her sister, her mother is dead and she's preternaturally strong without knowing why. You'd be prone to tears, too... That is, if you possessed the ability to feel human emotion," he corrected himself.

Lilah shot daggers at him, "Alright, I understand that she's having a rough time, but if she looks like she's about to blow can't you just take her outside of the building?"

"It's your job now, I cropped the funeral announcement like you asked. She doesn't know she has a sister, and now I'm done," Adam snipped, turning back to his computer.

"Fine," Lilah sneered, leaving to find Buffy.

After eventually realising she was nowhere in the building, Lilah ventured outside and found Buffy sitting on a garden ledge. It looked like she had done all of her crying during her episode in the bathroom, but Lilah was still cautious approaching her. Buffy savoured the setting sun as the now-friendlier breeze caressed her face gently.

"Buffy?" Lilah asked, her voice resuming an unnatural sweetness.

"You don't have to talk like that, speak normally," Buffy replied stonily.

"Alright, fine," Lilah said, reverting back to her usual cold tone. "I was wondering if you were alright. I'm sorry about your mother."

"Yeah, so am I," said Buffy, her eyes still locked on the horizon as the last rays of sun departed. "Is it time to leave?"

"Time to leave," she replied.

Buffy nodded and jumped down, quickly synchronising their steps but keeping her head directed straight ahead. "There's something you're not telling me."

Lilah was used to being accused of things she was guilty of, and had a pretty sincere poker face. She turned to Buffy, eyeing her suspiciously. "Is there?"

"Yeah, there is. I may not be as old as I look, but I think that - whoever I was - I knew people; I feel it catching up with me."

"And the memories? Are they returning?"

Buffy sighed exasperatedly, "No, still blank on memories, but I feel whoever I was coming back to me. I don't feel fifteen anymore."

Lilah had no idea what to say to the Slayer that she was seriously in danger of liking._ When in doubt_, she figured,_ change the subject_. "Anything else you want to research?"

Buffy half-smiled, her face still looking hardened and her eyes filled with anguish beyond her years, "I'll get back to you."

* * *

And there you go.  
Feel free to comment and review if you liked it, if not, still, thanks for reading!


	5. Never Play With Gunns

Hey guys! Here's the next chapter.  
Dedicated to my friend Riley, who listens to all my fics before they're published and laughs at all of my jokes, even when they're not funny.  
I know the story has been a bit slow so far, but I'm trying to go along and explain everything the right way.  


* * *

Lilah had gotten a lot of information about Watchers in a few days; source material, mostly. This was unfortunate for her, because Watchers were the most long-winded and pompous people she had ever known, and she was a lawyer.

Sitting at her desk, Lilah glanced at the clock again: 2:34pm. Six minutes from the last time she had checked. It was awfully quiet without the television on, as was Buffys' custom; she claimed that she couldn't think without the noise. For a woman only a decade or so younger than her, Lilah felt the generational gap pretty strongly.

Buffy had been living with Lilah for three weeks now. That afternoon Buffy had wanted to go for a walk around the neighbourhood and was permitted to, provided that she was back within the daylight hours. Her memories had not returned, and Lilah had not yet learned enough about Watchers that she could pretend to be one. Lilah wasn't worried about Buffy running into Angel as Buffy was only to venture out alone during the day, still even if she did run into him she would have no idea who he was; it reminded her fondly of the scenario with Darla and Angel.

_'The fanged beast charged t'wards me, but lo'! Ne'er had the beast met with such art, such death, such chivalry as that which I brought to the fold!' _Lilah groaned at the size of the pile of Watcher diaries left on her desk. If she had to hear about one more fanged beast, she would seriously consider having reconnaissance just wipe out all of the Watchers. The pretention!

"To each generation a Slayer is born," she recited in a wise tone, "One girl in all the world; a chosen one, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires and stop the spread of their evil..." Lilah sighed, momentarily unable to continue her road to loss of total self-respect. She had decided that tomorrow would be the day that she would reveal to Buffy who she really was... With a few minor adjustments.

*

Buffy strolled down the pathway and enjoyed the suns' rays. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and Buffy felt less afraid than she had since she had...woken up. Lilah constantly referred to her waking as 'her resurrection'. When Buffy had asked her why, she just said it had 'seemed appropriate.'

Buffy had been going to Wolfram & Hart with Lilah for research, and had grown to like Adam very much. The two of them had researched her past through school records while Lilah did her own work. It turned out that she_ had_ gotten kicked out of Hemery a few weeks after her last memory, and she_ had_ moved to Sunnydale. She had graduated with the class of '99 and gone to Sunnydale College the last year, dropping out when her mother had died. She had a history of violence and property damage, which was weird because she didn't_ feel_ an inherent desire to brutalise anything.

_"Yeah, but I hear that town does crazy things to people," Adam had said_.

Buffy was brought back to the present by someone knocking into her. She found that she had become a lot stronger than she remembered, easily holding her ground as the a bulky male form shook her balance.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man apologised, checking to see if he'd hurt her.

"That's okay." The man was tall, dark and friendly looking and Buffy found herself instantly drawn to him. Buffy stopped walking and looked up at him, smiling shyly.

"I'm - Uh, I'm Gunn," he grinned nervously and held out his hand.

"Anne," she shook his hand, using her middle name because of Lilah's insistence that she remained discreet.

Not usually so forward but eager to stay away from the hotel ever since Fred had chosen Wes over her, Gunn asked Anne if she'd like to go to lunch.

"To make up for crashing into you," he had said.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," Buffy replied, struggling to keep stride with the him.

The two decided to walk down to the pier, which was about a ten minute walk away. It was a hot day and Buffy doubted that she could have done more than stroll, even if she'd wanted to.

"So Anne," Gunn began casually, "Where're you from?"

"L.A., originally. I moved to Sunnydale about five years ago, and then I came back."

"Why'd you leave L.A.?"

Buffy smiled sheepishly, "I burned down my school gym." She quietly hoped that this guy didn't think that she was insane.

Gunn stared at her, dumbstruck. For a moment Buffy feared that she had scared him, until he began to laugh. "Damn, wouldn't have picked you as the type," he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Yeah, me neither. What about you, how's the City of Angels working for you?"

"Actually, I'm working for the City of Angels," Gunn replied, relishing in his own wit and wishing that someone who would understand it was present. "I work in a P.I. firm." Was firm the right word? They weren't exactly large scale. "Well, I mean, there are five of us. Not huge, but we get it done."

"Do you have one of those little monocles and a feathered cap?"

"No, I ordered it in last week but it hasn't arrived yet. Plus they can't reveal their secret identities so there's no return address if they're defective," he informed her sombrely.

"Defective detective..." Buffy spat out for no apparent reason. The two grinned stupidly and kept their leisurely pace.

Buffy and Gunn rounded a corner and Gunn led them into his favourite fish and chip shop, buying himself and his pretty friend a pluto pup each.

"Hey big spender," she had joked when he passed it to her.

As they sat on the pier Buffy wondered why she had always worried so much about what people were wearing. This guy didn't have the best dress sense in the world, but he was friendly and she liked him.

"So why'd you come back? What was wrong with Sunnydale?" Gunn asked.

Buffy laughed. "You've obviously never been to Sunnydale. I just needed a change. Not really much to tell." And there_ really_ wasn't. "What about you, how'd you end up a defective detective?" she mimicked what he had said earlier, "I wouldn't have picked you as the type."

"I lost my sister a while back," he said; his voice was filled with a sadness that made Buffy want to reach over and hug him, "she got taken by these guys. They changed her..." Gunn paused, not wanting to sound crazy.

_'I fight demons. Yeah, they do exist! My ensouled vampire boss and I get paid to kill them. Hey, why are you leaving so soon_?'

"And then she died."

Buffy stared at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry, I lost my mom a few months ago."

"How'd it happen?"

She creased her brow, "Brain aneurysm."

"Sorry."

"It's cool...I think a change of subject," she swung her legs over the pier playfully, "Is required."

"Okay Anne," Gunn agreed. "Whatchu wanna talk about?"

Buffy would have to get used to not using her real name; she kept almost correcting Gunn. "Is your first name really 'Gun'?"

"No, my 'rents weren't that cruel. My names' Charles Gunn; two 'n's."

"In Charles?" Buffy asked, confused. Gunn looked at her oddly and she realised her mistake. "...Oh. Sorry. I have this rare... Brain disease. Where I can't... think," she babbled, embarrassed. "Uh, so where do you live? I mean, if that doesn't sound too stalker-y. Because I'm not. A stalker. I was just wondering where you lived because I like talking to you and am not going to turn up at your house in the middle of the night or anything because that's what a stalker would do and I'm not... One. A stalker."

A pregnant pause followed before Gunn burst into fits of laughter. "You always go on like that?"

Buffy looked disgruntled. "Apparently."

Gunn handed Buffy a piece of paper. She examined it and realised that it was the wrapping for his pluto pup; next to a large dollop of tomato sauce was Gunn's address.

"Classy," she murmured, a smile teasing the corner of her lips.

"What can I say? I'm a classy guy. Oh, and," he passed her a more presentable looking business card, "this is the number of the business I work at. If you're ever in trouble, give us a call."

Buffy thanked him and looked down at the card. There was something above the number, a lobster? A... Fish?

"Is this... A butterfly?" she asked.

"It's an Angel. That's my boss' name; Angel," Gunn explained.

"That's a weird name."

"Yeah, I guess it is. He's a good guy, though. Maybe you should stop by and meet him sometime."

Buffy was tempted by the thought of seeing a real-life P.I. office, and assured him that she would stop by sometime. She started to stand up and Gunn grabbed her arm lightly. "Where you going?"

"I gotta be home before sunset; my friend has a thing about it."

"Smart friend," Gunn uttered quietly.

Standing up too, he asked Buffy if she'd like him to walk her home.

"No, I think I'll be okay. The monsters don't come out until after dark, right?" she joked, beginning to head back the way they came.

Gunn followed her and laughed nervously, "That's what I hear."

The two walked back to Buffys' apartment in comfortable silence, both drifting away with their thoughts.

"Oh, this is my stop," Buffy said, standing in front of the apartment building.

Gunns' face became stern, "Look, Anne," Buffy felt another pang of guilt for not telling him her real name, "Monsters aren't just in nightmares," he tried to twist his warning so that he didn't sound too crazy or cryptic, "There's a lot lurking in this city. Just... Be careful."

Buffy smiled sincerely and Gunn felt his breath hitch in his chest. "I will. It was nice to meet you, Gunn."

"You too, Anne."

Gunn walked home in the highest of spirits, merrily dusting every vampire in his way. He strolled into Angel Investigations whistling a jaunty tune, much to the surprise of his colleagues.

"What are you so happy about?" Cordelia asked, carelessly shoving aside a large pile of paperwork and eyeing him suspiciously.

Gunn pretended to look confused. "What d'you mean? Can't I just be glad that it's a beautiful L.A. night?"

"Oh please. The whistling, the strutting, the goofy grin, come on; you've been moping around here ever since -"

Cordy cut off as Wesley and Fred walked in - the two pointedly distanced themselves from each other when they spotted Gunn, but neither could keep their eyes from straying back to each other for long.

Cordy, still weary of Gunns' unusual behaviour, gauged his reaction to the not-so-subtle lovers before him. When Gunn maintained his happy mood in the face of Fred and Wes' goo-goo eyes, Cordelia dragged him into Angels' office. Not bothering to check whether Angel was in it or not, she started her attack.

"Okay Gunn, what's the deal? You know I know something's up, so you may as well tell me. Besides," she smirked triumphantly, "If you don't tell me then I'll show Fred that poem you wrote about her."

"What? I didn't write a poem about Fred," Gunn replied truthfully.

"She doesn't know that though," said Cordelia, holding up a piece of paper with Gunns' handwriting on it. "Pretty easy hand to copy."

Gunn sighed, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fine," he relented. "I met a girl."

"You did?" Angel asked, placing a bloodied battle axe behind the door.

"Yeah."

Cordy sprung into action straight away and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Well? Tell! What's she look like? Do I know her? What's her name?"

"Her name's Anne. I bumped into her on the street this afternoon, and we just got talking. She's cool. We talked all afternoon, down at the pier."

"Yes," Cordelia said impatiently, "But what's she_ look like_?"

"She's short, blonde, and...whew," Gunn said, fanning his face. "She's a hottie."

"Yeah, there are a lot those in L.A.," Angel said distractedly, thumbing through a case file. "Now can you two go and gossip outside? I've got a lot of work on this Thompson case I have to get done. That ghoul is still haunting their kitchen sink, and they're not happy."

"Hey, what's the girls' last name?" asked Cordy, ignoring Angel.

"It's..." Gunn started, realising he didn't know. "I forgot to ask, I guess. I got a number though," he recovered smugly.

Angel, obviously not as enthralled by this new development as Cordelia, slammed the folder in his hands onto the desk dramatically. "Guys. Outside. _Now_."

"Fine," Cordelia huffed. "...Just because you can't get any without turning into a soulless mass murdering monster," she muttered once outside the office.

"I heard that."

* * *

  
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you liked it?


	6. Anne, Meet Buffy

BtVS characters, affiliates, &etc belong to Joss, not me. Don't make me dwell. ;)  
Thank you so much everyone that's commented, alerted and favourited, it makes me so, very happy that you guys are liking this.  
This chapter is more dialogue-y than usual, but I think it works.  
I'm sorry that my chapters are usually pretty short, but that's just how I write.  
I hope you enjoy!  


* * *

_Back in Sunnydale.  
__Willows' (Joyces') Room  
__Three weeks after resurrection._

Amy wasn't a rat anymore. Willows' head spun as she caught up with the rush that little piece of magic had given her.

"How'd you do it?" Dawn asked, "One of those transfigamajig spells?"

"Transfiguration," Willow corrected her, "And yeah. I mean, I just... Realised that I could do it."

Dawn smiled half-heartedly when all she wanted to do was scream. Tara had left because of Willows' addiction to magicks, and she resented Willow for the loss of yet another parental figure. It wasn't something, in Dawn's opinion, to be bragged about.

A few days before, Willow, Tara, Dawn, Xander, Anya and Spike - who had kept his promise of watching over Dawn, sharing parental duties with Willow - had been at The Magic Box when some loan sharks (one of whom actually resembled a shark) arrived to beat Spikes' debt out of him. Although this usually wouldn't have been a problem, a spell that Willow had cast to cleanse Tara's mind of a fight they had had went awry and the six of them all lost their memories, and only after Xander had crushed the crystal controlling the spell had they gotten their memories back. Tara, who had asked Willow to go without magic for a week that day, left Revello Drive that night.

Thoughts of that day lead Dawn back to what Spike had told her the night after:

_"That was pretty freaky, huh?" Dawn said as she and Spike sat in his crypt. "I mean, the loss of memory." _

_"I gotta be honest, it wasn't the worst spell I've had put on me, except for the soddin' outfit," Spike said, glaring at the brown suit strewn carelessly across his dusty floor. _

_Prompted by this statement, Dawn became curious. "What is the worst spell you've ever had put on you?" _

_Spike smiled knowingly, "I might tell you one day, when you're over eighteen and I'm a few drinks the worse, but trust me; scorned witches are pretty damn creative when they're pissed." _

_"You don't sound like losing your memory bothered you that much."_

_"Well, apart from not minding a good spot o' violence, it was nice," Spike paused, formulating the right words. "...To forget for a while." _

_Dawn nodded empathetically and Spike took a long swig from a nearly empty bottle of whisky__._

"Dawnie?" Willow said, clicking her fingers in front of Dawns' face to draw her attention. Or possibly to magically attain it. "This is Amy."

Behind Willow stood a brown haired girl with a shy smile on her face. She lifted her hand and waved nervously, seemingly unfamiliar with the basic human movement. "Hi. Dawn, right?"

Dawn nodded and smiled, excusing herself and returning to her bedroom.

Dawn sat down and tried to finish her math homework, which had become more tolerable now that she had a theme song to accompany it with. Her life was an odd one, and not just because of her total awareness of a world of demons and death. She didn't have a living legal guardian, and her guardians' replacement was a robot. Dawn didn't have a mom, dad and sister anymore; she had a witch, a vampire and a robotic clone. She thought about how when she was young she had dressed up as a princess and wished that she could have lived inside a fairytale.

_Well,_ she thought bitterly_, you got your wish. Sort of_.

"Dawn?" Willow poked her head in the room, "I'm going to go out with Amy for a while, but I called Spike and he'll be here in about five minutes, will you be okay?"

Dawn rolled her eyes, "I'll be fine for five minutes, Willow."

Willow nodded distractedly and ran downstairs. Laughter echoed up the stairs and she envied Willows' free-spiritedness in what was - for Dawn - such a trying time.

She heard Spike arrive a few minutes later, and ran hurriedly down the stairs. "Have you got everything?"

Spike nodded, holding up a large dusty book and several containers full of herbs and things Dawn didn't want to know about. He ushered Dawn out the door and they headed towards the cemetary that Buffy had been laid to rest in.

_Time to wake the princess_, she thought.

*

The lights in Lilahs' office flickered erratically. A more superstitious person may have taken this as a warning sign about what she was about to do, but Lilah Morgan was much too sensible a woman to believe in such nonsense as premonition, assuming that it was just a ghoul.

Lilah held the final Watchers' diary in her hands: Rupert Giles, Watcher of Buffy Summers. This diary had prepared her better than all of the others combined (not to mention that this Watcher wasn't nearly as snobbish as the rest of them - and much more interesting, too, in a moral goody-two shoes kind of way), and with it in her possession she felt ready to instigate her plan and confident in her portrayal of a Watcher, which would be formidable.

Marching her expensive heels into the living room where Buffy sat reading meticulously through her school records, Lilah turned the television off and sat down next to her.

Buffy, seeing that Lilah had something to say, placed her (exceedingly heavy) permanent record on the coffee table and faced her, waiting expectantly.

"Buffy," Lilah began using her softest tone, "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Buffy shifted worriedly, uncertainly she asked; "What is it... Did I do something?"

"No. It's about who you were... Who you are," continued Lilah ominously.

Buffys' eyes widened and brightened with interest. She couldn't think of anything that Lilah could know that she hadn't already read from the fairly extensive files from Wolfram & Hart.

"I'm sure you've noticed that you're strong. Stronger than most people you know?"

Buffy simply nodded.

"There's a reason. Have you ever seen something that you couldn't explain? No," she backtracked, muttering to herself. "I can't see how you would have; you've always been back before dark."

Although this was true, Buffy had still seen some very odd looking people in this town. A man Buffy had seen Gunn talking to in town one day had green skin and red horns protruding from his head, but Buffy hadn't asked Gunn about it, preferring to allow her own assumptions free reign in her head (_'he's probably wearing makeup', 'it could be a skin disease?', 'maybe he's filming a movie, it is L.A. after all!'_).

"No, I understand."

Lilah was pleased by the time this would save. "Good. So you understand that there are some things in this city that aren't entirely human."

"Yeah, I get that L.A. has the whole Bram Stoker vibe going on. What does it have to do with me?"

Lilah took a deep breath as she prepared to give the speech that she had repeated a hundred times earlier that day. "You're not like other girls; you have a destiny, a purpose. _'To each generation a Slayer is born: one girl in all the world; a chosen one, one born with the strength and skill to fight the vampires and stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers_'... You're the Slayer, Buffy."

Buffy sat, immobilised. "I... How did I," her throat closed up and a look of realisation passed across her face, "How did I die?"

Lilah was well rehearsed in her story. "You didn't die. You were attacked and poisoned. There's a certain African poison, it slows the heart enough that one will seem dead. You'll have no pulse. It's likely that your memory loss was your mind blocking out stressful events, and since being the Slayer is highly stressful," she said, "It's also likely that your mind in its' catatonic state cleansed itself of the most stressful times of your life. You would have been buried and left; if the poison is administered in a high enough dosage, it will keep you asleep for days, and since your body is much more resilient than a normal humans', a larger dose would have been intentionally administered."

What Lilah _didn't_ mention was that Buffy had also blocked out the fact that she had a sister. She had a few men investigate why this could be, but their only possible suggestion was stress induced repression. Blood kin, apparently, were more likely to bring her memories to the surface if this had been mystical and not in fact stress induced, so Lilah's superiors commanded that she keep that less-than-minute detail hidden.

Buffy was speechless. At an earlier point she wouldn't have believed it possible, but there were_ more_ questions she needed answered now. The predominant ones on her mind, though, were these; "How do you know all of this? Who_ are_ you?"

Lilah looked at her trustingly, "I'm your Watcher. Your previous Watcher was... Incompetent. He allowed you to be poisoned. The Watchers' Council feels it better that I take over his duties and you remain with me until you're well enough equipped that you can take care of yourself, financially and otherwise. I'm supposed to take care of you and guide you in your duties, that's what a Watcher does."

More questions, more questions, _more questions! _"What _duties_? Who are the Watchers' Council? I'm supposed to kill vampires? I don't even know how!" she cried stridently, "Who made me Slayer? Was it the Watchers' Council? _Tell them to find someone else,_" Buffy fumed, storming out of the apartment.

Lilah allowed her to go, picking up her previously hidden mobile and pressing it to her ear.

_"Well," _a voice said drily, _"That went better than I had expected, at least. Should you follow her?"_

"No," Lilah said confidently. "She'll be back."

_"How can you be sure?"_

Lilah smiled, "It's night time."

*

_Back in Sunnydale.  
__Buffys' grave.  
__Three weeks after resurrection._

"Why did we have to do this at night?" Dawn asked Spike, who was setting up the resurrection materials by Buffys' grave. "Couldn't we just come back during the day?"

"Because a pile of dust won't be able to help you resurrect your sister," Spike said. He was overcome with nervousness about this spell, not allowing himself to raise his hopes.

"I see that face. Stop doubting. We can do it," Dawn told him sternly. "And anyway, as a member of the dead yourself, you've gotta help our chances."

Spike turned around to face Dawn, placing the lambs' blood on the ground, "Dawn, if this doesn't work, I need you to accept that it isn't going to. Our chances... Are pretty slim."

Dawn jumped up and glared at him, "Shut up Spike, we have to try! It's what she would want."

Spike gave her a serious look, "We don't know that. I'm not saying I'm not going to try, but -"

Dawn cut him off again as she felt the hysteria rising inside of her, "God, Spike! Why are you acting like this?"

"Like_ what_, Little Bit?" Spike's voice was more threatening now.

"Like you_ don't even want her back!_"

Spike didn't stand, didn't reply, because he felt like if he tried to respond he would snap her neck. For a minute he just sat down and tried to calm himself.

"So it's all bloody good for soulful Angel to leave and abandon you and still get the soddin' sympathy when his ex-honey dies, and then when I try to_ warn you_ about the dangers of a resurrecting spell it's _soulless Spike _NOT BLOODY CARING?"

Dawn backed up and spoke quietly, "I... Spike, that's not what I meant. "

"Just sit down and put this on your hand," he said coldly, passing her a vile of the lambs' blood. "I read that there are side effects to this, so if things start squirmin' out of my eyeballs just ignore it."

Becoming slightly frightened, Dawn gulped and nodded, taking Spikes' hand and reciting what he had told her to. Twisting her tongue around foreign words she didn't understand, Dawn watched in wonder as a red cloud of smoke rose on Buffys' grave. The smoke looked like it was trying to seep into the ground but kept bouncing off. Spike held a determined gaze and hastily recited the words he too had learnt for the occasion. The force of the spell shook them both and Dawn felt pressure building up in her head.

"_Return," _Spike chanted as Dawn finished her lines.

"_Return._

_"Return._

_"RETURN!"_ he yelled fiercely at the red pillar of energy.

They both held tightly and watched the pillar in anticipation, hoping that it had worked.

The pillar raised a small layer of dust and began to spin more rapidly, unsuccessful in its penetration of the ground. With one last powerful quake, the pillar disappeared and all was silent.

Spike fell forward into his hands and began to shake. "It... It didn't work," he murmured to himself, his eyes mad with renewed grief.

Dawn moved closer to him and placed her arms gently around him, the scene reminded her of when Buffy had died and Dawn had held Spike as he sobbed violently into her. Spike didn't seem to be able to control himself, same as then, his shudders growing more violent by the second. No longer preoccupied by Spike, Dawn realised the gravity of what had just happened.

Buffy was gone. There was absolutely no chance of bringing her back.

Dawn and Spike cried as though she had died again that night, not leaving her grave until sunrise just to be that little bit closer to her.

* * *

There you go. Thanks for reading!  
If you liked, let me know?


	7. This Is Your Life

Okay guys. I know I've kept the chapters pretty short, but I wrote a big long one to make up for it. :D  
Thanks _so_ much for all of the support for this story. It makes me feel great that you're enjoying it.  
Well, right to the point; as always, enjoy.

* * *

Buffy ran through the streets, her breathing heavy and panicked. She had never been good at sports before, but the new power she had in her body ensured that she could propel herself around the city at record breaking speeds. She had no idea where she was going, she was just running blind. Fear had gripped her completely and she wasn't sure what she could do, or how to deal with what she had just heard. She was, apparently, the Slayer. The one girl in all the world who was supposed to fight demons. This didn't look great for her life expectancy.

Hell, the fact that she had already died didn't look great for her life expectancy. Except that she hadn't... Had she?

Buffy slowed to a walk and tried to ascertain where she was, thinking that it looked familiar. She realised quickly that she was a block away from Gunn's apartment, and as soon as she knew this sprinted in his direction.

*

Gunn turned off the shower tap and grabbed a towel from the bathroom door. He wrapped the towel around his waist and moved to the mirror to shave his five o' clock stubble.

He swore loudly when he accidentally cut his left cheek, laughing when he remembered that an elderly woman lived in the apartment next to him and more likely than not just heard his colourful take on somebody's mother.

Gunn walked into his bedroom and looked in the mirror. _Not half bad, _he thought.

His mobile sounded and he hoped for a second that it was Anne calling, but was disappointed when his caller ID identified the caller as Angel.

"Hey," Gunn said.

"Gunn," Angel sounded exhausted, "I'm in the alley behind Caritas. We've got trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The kind that requires you, me and Wesley with extremely sharp axes."

"I'm on my way," he said and hung up.

Pulling on jeans and a shirt and grabbing several particularly menacing weapons, Gunn rushed out the door and down the stairs, only to crash into Anne. Again.

"Anne," Gunn said, surprised, "What are you doin' here?"

"Gunn," she said, relief evident in her voice. That is, before she spotted the large battle axes Gunn was holding. "Oh. You're busy. I'm sorry," she said quietly, turning around, "I'll leave."

_Follow her! _Gunn's mind commanded him. "No, Anne," he grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." she could tell him, he was a good friend, she cared for him. It would be easy. Except that if she did, she would risk his life. _Even more, apparently,_ the voice in her head told her, _looks like he's doing okay for himself._

No, she couldn't tell him. It wasn't fair. "Nothing. I was just out loitering, and I thought I'd stop by."

"Okay..." Gunn seemed to believe her. "I'm sorry, I have to... Return these to a client. We shine silver too, at Angel Investigations."

_We shine silver at Angel Investigations? How do you _have _any friends?_ That same little voice asked Gunn.

"They don't look very shiny," Buffy said, examining them.

"Yeah, they've got the first coat on them, but I need to buy another toner to wipe the chemicals off,_ then_ they'll be shiny."

Although Gunn was a much better liar than Buffy, Buffy was less easily convinced. Smiling to humour him, she accepted his 'I'll call you later' and headed back to the apartment. Incessant questions be damned, she needed to talk to Lilah.

*

Soon after Gunn had run into Anne he, Angel and Wesley were surrounded by a horde of Fyarl demons that they suspected Wolfram & Hart had sent as special presents just for them; they had killed two of them with six still standing. The alleyway outside of Caritas was crowded and malodorous as snarls and growls filled the air.

"So," Angel said to Gunn, swiping his axe at a snarling Fyarl demon, "How are things with that girl you're seeing?"

Ducking and springing behind a Fyarl approaching Wesley, Gunn dug his axe into its' neck and sliced through. "They're pretty good. Nothing serious yet, but man, if I'd have known that that kind of girl existed I would have bought a one way ticket to Sunnydale."

The last part was drowned out by Wesleys' successfully hacking off the limb of the largest Fyarl and its' resulting shrieks of pain.

"You would have fought what?" Angel yelled over the noise, swiftly beheading the incapacitated demon.

"I would have _bought_ a _one way ticket -_" Gunn replied, severing the artery of a Fyarl behind him.

"You would have_ bought _a_ runway ticket!?" _Angel looked confused.

"NEVER MIND!" Gunn screamed over all of the noise and the two men reverted back to their individual battles.

Half an hour and an obscene amount of demon goo later the three men made their way back to the hotel to take advantage of the several working bathrooms.

"So what'd you say before?" Angel asked.

Gunn wiped liberal amounts of the green goo off his face, "Man, I don't even remember."

*

Later that night Buffy, having finally resolved to ask questions, walked in the door and found Lilah on the lounge on her mobile.

"Look, I have to go. Yes, fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Lilah pressed a button on the phone and looked at Buffy expectantly.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry for storming out, because I'm not," Buffy said, "But what you're saying makes at least a tiny bit of sense to some part of me, which is the most I've gotten since I woke up."

Lilah opened her mouth to speak, but Buffy cut her off.

"That being said, you've got to be pretty much aware that after being totally wigged I'd have more questions than Trivial Pursuit; The Extended Edition."

Lilah nodded and signalled for her to sit, which she did.

"What do you want to know?"Lilah asked.

"Tell me about my life; the things that they couldn't put on my permanent record."

Lilah had foreseen this question, and had enough answers to satiate the girl for the moment. "Your first Watcher was named Merrick, but he was killed by an ancient vampire named Lothos fairly soon after you were called. I didn't get a lot of specifications on the time frames, but after that you burned down the gym and moved to Sunnydale."

Buffy sat, enwrapped in her own life story. It sounded much more thrilling than the adolescent memories she was making do with for the moment.

"Your first year in Sunnydale," Lilah continued, "You faced someone called The Master; one of the oldest vampires on record. He drowned you, but you were revived by someone called Xander."

"He was... my friend?" Buffy asked. She had had a friend. A friend who had saved her life. A friend who she now couldn't remember. Maybe he was more to her. Maybe they were in love. Maybe Buffy and Xander slew vampires together and they were the only thing that made sense to one another in a world of insanity.

The possibilities were driving her crazy. She wanted to go back to Sunnydale.

"Yes, he was a friend," Lilah said.

"Maybe I should go back to Sunnydale," Buffy suggested.

Lilah looked at her sternly, "Buffy, you're untrained and unskilled, and well-known in that town as a fearsome vampire slayer. They would kill you in an instant," she snapped her fingers to emphasise her point. "You can return to Sunnydale once you have completed your training," Lilah lied.

"You're right," Buffy sighed, "Tell me more about my life."

Lilah felt like she was telling a horror-filled bedtime story. "Your second year..." This was the year she would have to change the most, "Three vampires moved to Sunnydale; Angelus, Spike and Drusilla. Angelus tried to charm you, but you outsmarted him and eventually sent him to Hell through an ancient demon he had tried to resurrect to suck the whole world into Hell."

"Good to know my social calendar was full," Buffy said sarcastically.

"Three months later you returned to Sunnydale; you had back come here for that time, dealing with the emotional year that you'd had. Recuperating."

"Was there a spa vacation, too?" Buffy muttered indignantly. Her sarcasm had returned at full blast, it appeared.

"_However,"_ Lilah chimed in, annoyed by the interruptions, "Angelus was returned from Hell by a great evil, and succeeded in convincing you that he was good and had a soul. He was neither, and before he fled he fed from you."

Buffy instinctively reached for the scar on her neck and Lilah nodded. Buffy filled with rage and unconsciously dug her nails into the scar.

"I thought you were supposed to get_ smarter_ with age? How did I let it happen?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Angelus; the one with the angelic face. He can be sincere when he wishes it, and has many allies due to his acclaimed acting skills. He likes to play games, and he's good at winning."

"Did I find him?"

"No, he's still at large. Some say he's in L.A., but he's never been found. He always leaves a trail, though. He claims to be doing good, but he isn't. Some demons... Can be good," Lilah didn't actually believe this, but it was crucial to the creation of Buffys' character. "Some can function in society. Angelus kills them, claiming to be ridding the world of demons and evil."

Buffy gritted her teeth together. She would slay this vampire at any cost. For the good of the world, Angelus would die.

"Anyway, later on in that year, the Mayor of Sunnydale attempted to ascend into a higher form; it looked like a giant snake -"

"Let me guess: its favourite meal was human _a la carte_?"

"Yes. You killed it; you led it into your high school and set off enormous amounts of explosives."

"I blew up my high school? Did I still graduate?"

"Yes."

Buffy laughed happily. "Sounds like I had fun."

Lilah was impatient to finish reciting everything she had learned about Buffys' life, and grew more frustrated with her interruptions. "Would you like me to continue?"

"Right. Sorry. Go on," Buffy said, crossing her legs formally and sitting still.

"The next year - your first year in college - a government organisation that tested and magnified demons created a demon, human, Cyborg hybrid -"

Just as Buffy began to express some form of excitement or disbelief, Lilah held up her hand to silence her.

"In short, you killed it. That year you had a serious relationship with a member of the organisation named Riley Finn. This was your first recorded relationship."

"That's a guy, right?"

"Yes. The next year he left for a government job and you remained. A Hell God named Glory -"

"Okay, interrupting now_. Hell God_?!" Buffy exclaimed.

"A Hell God named Glorificus from another dimension who was banished and made her way into our dimension by sharing bodies with a mortal man attempted to kill you. Sources are still not clear on why that was. The files are scarce, but there was some information telling that you withheld a key that would unlock a portal into that Hell dimension, bringing forth Hell on earth -"

"Go team."

"You incapacitated the Hell God and her mortal host was later murdered by an unknown."

Here was the part where it got iffy. Lilah wasn't sure if the next part of the story would fit, but she had been told by the Senior Partners that the Slayer must not know of her powerful witch friends' existence, making the lie necessary.

"Glorificus had been alive since before dawn of time, and as such accumulated several races of dedicated followers. Before she was removed from this dimension she instructed a group of her minions to inject you with the serum that induced a coma that was then misconstrued for death. That's all I know."

"Buffy Summers, this is your life," Buffy muttered. "Wow. That's a lot to take in...and a lot to forget. I see why my brain decided to can it."

"Now that you know where you've been, it should help you with where you are. Will you allow me to reteach you what you need to know to be a Slayer, Buffy?" Lilah asked, faking sincerity quite well.

"Well, you've got so much dirt on me I don't see how I have a choice," Buffy laughed. "I have one more question," she said. "Did I have many friends?"

Lilah looked her straight in the eye. "You_ did._"

"What happened?" Buffy grieved for the friends she couldn't remember having.

"Glorificus killed them."

"So back in Sunnydale..." she realised, "I have no one?"

Lilah smirked inwardly, "No one."

Buffy looked up, obviously trying to find her own personal silver lining. "At least... I have you now."

Pressing the 'end recording' button in her pocket, Lilah laid her hand on Buffy's and tried to look earnest. "Yes, you do, and I'm here for you _whenever_ you need me."

"Where will we train?" Buffy asked, pushing the knot of dread in her chest down and allowing her eagerness to shine forth. "I mean, learning to fight demons isn't going to be something I can learn next to the lounge and in front of the TV."

"No need to worry; I've had a venue set up in Wolfram & Hart that should accommodate our needs quite nicely."

*

_'Accommodate our needs quite nicely', _she had said.

Standing in the equipment-filled room that would have fit two Olympic sized swimming pools, Buffy imagined that this room would accommodate the needs of an ARMY '_quite nicely'_.

Lilah, dressed in her usual businesslike apparel, brought a broad-headed sword down to the ground sharply.

"Now that I have your attention," she began, mentally revising her training instructions, "How much do you know about physical confrontation?"

Buffy raised her fists, which were curled into balls with the thumbs on the outside. "Keep your thumbs outside of your fist so you don't break them, and when in doubt go below the belt."

Lilah cocked her brow, "Interesting fighting style, but it's a little more complicated than that."

Lilah had had a very vehement conversation with the Senior Partners' liaison that afternoon. They had insisted that Lilah teach the Slayer the necessary skills herself, and she had insisted that she would be inadequate for such a monumental endeavour. After a very vivid demonstration of the places that the Senior Partners sent their insubordinates however, Lilah conceded.

A Watcher, it turned out, had just as much to learn as the Slayer. There were certain rituals, demons, potions, cultures and languages that a Watcher was forced to learn. Luckily for Lilah, the Senior Partners were feeling generous and - under the pretence of finishing some important business - Lilah had left Buffy that afternoon and had everything she would need to know about being a Watcher implanted into her head (temporarily, so that when Buffy was no longer useful Lilah would be able to forget all about it).

"The first thing I'm going to teach you is -"

"How'd you become a Watcher?" Buffy asked, ignoring Lilahs' dramatic beginning.

Lilah was thrown. This was one question she hadn't been prepared for, and the traditional initiation of a Watcher was somewhat unbelievable in her case. "Wolfram & Hart appreciates diversity. I was trained as a Watcher, just in case I was never needed to aid a Slayer."  
Buffy, satisfied with this answer, sat down on the cushy blue training mat under her feet and placed her head in her hands. "Okay. Shoot."

"The first thing I'm going to teach you is how to land your kicks, simple but necessary. Stand up," Buffy stood and Lilah lifted her target. "I want you to kick."

Buffy folded her arms and looked indignant. "I went to a _public _school, and they taught better than that."

"Just do it," Lilah commanded.

"Fine," she shrugged, unphased, "But it's your face."

Buffy, looking slightly foreboding but confident, sprung forward and landed a kick directly on the target.

"Good. It_ should_ come naturally. I would have been concerned if you'd missed."

"That's because I would have kicked your face instead."

As much as was possible for her, Lilah had grown to like this girl. After her initial shock, she had become fiery and driven, she reminded Lilah of herself. Except that she fought for all that was good; or, so she thought - much to Lilah's amusement. Over the last five days, Buffy had exercised her strength with infantile amusement and amazement. She had refused to join Lilah at Wolfram & Hart during the day, choosing instead to lift and throw every piece of furniture in Lilahs' possession, still never breaking anything. She had asked Lilah more than ten times if this she was being Punk'd, and Lilah - not knowing what that meant - had assured her that she wasn't.

"Enough smart comments," said she.

It took Buffy all of half an hour to master the roundhouse kick with enough force to knock off someone's head, and all of an hour to learn to take out several attackers at once. The two trained for five hours before Buffy stepped over an unconscious Wolfram & Hart employee (who had unfortunately volunteered to attack her) and headed towards the door.

"Come back here, you haven't even started on the obstacle course yet," Lilah hissed, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

"Lilah, it's midnight and I'm tired, and don't you have to work tomorrow?"

"You_ are_ my work." is what Lilah wanted to say, but it would arouse too much suspicion in the Slayer if she knew that a multi-dimensional law firm was investing in her, so instead she sufficed with, "I took health leave."

Buffy snorted. "No you didn't. Let's just go."

Neither eager to stay nor willing to argue, Lilah made her way over the several unconscious employees and headed for the door.

"Wait," Buffy looked at the unconscious bodies ruefully, "Shouldn't we wake them up or something?"

Lilah shrugged and pressed the fire alarm. Sprinklers drenched the men, who all jumped up with a start and walked out the door mumbling and shooting malicious glares at the Slayer and their colleague.

Buffy obviously disapproved of Lilahs' methods, but said nothing.

Lilah felt considerably better once she knew that she wouldn't be taking kicks and punches from a twenty year old with preternatural strength. Almost happily, she asked, "Hungry?"

"Yeah," Buffy grunted, "Can we get fast food?"  
"There's a twenty-four hour Chinese food store around the block to the right, I have to report to the office but you should find it easily, and I doubt you'll be in any danger," Lilah turned left and headed for the front doors of Wolfram & Harts' main offices.

"I'm there. I've been jonesing for fried shrimp all night."

As Buffy walked down the street it occurred to her that she hadn't spoken to Gunn for five days due to being so preoccupied with her newly discovered identity. She hadn't seen him since she had turned up at his place, actually. Forgetting the time, she pulled out a mobile that Lilah had lent her and dialled his number.

A voice answered groggily and clattering sounded behind the unsure voice._"Hello_?"

"Gunn?" Buffy said. Her eyes flicking down to her watch, she inhaled sharply. "OH. I'm sorry for calling so late, I just got out of a thing with a friend and..." she rambled.

_"Anne?"_

"Yeah, it's me. Uh, sorry for calling. I'll let you go -"

Gunn seemed to awaken quickly_. "No, it's good to hear from you. Sorry for not calling, I've been busy with dem - de massive amount of paperwork I've had." _

Buffy smiled to herself, "Did you just say 'de'? What are you, Jamaican?"

_"I could be if you want." _

Buffy could hear the amusement in his tone and knew that all was forgiven for calling so late. "So I was about to go and get some_ really_ late dinner, and - forgetting the time - was wondering if you wanted to join me."_  
"Where were you thinking, Miss Summers?" _

"That little Chinese place around the block from Wolfram & Hart."

_"Or,"_ Gunn suggested, not wanting to be anywhere near Wolfram & Hart, _"You could come over to my place." _

Buffy tried to decipher whether there was any underlying intent in that invitation, but as she could hear none she readily agreed. "I'll be over in five," she promised, hailing a cab.

Gunn quickly fixed himself up, putting on jeans and a shirt and applying some aftershave. Just as he thanked God that he had no hair to tidy he heard a knock on the door.

There Anne stood, managing to look both flustered and gorgeous.

"Did you run here?" Gunn asked, eyeing her red cheeks.

"Oh," Buffy had forgotten about how sweaty and messy she looked. "No, I had a work out session with a girlfriend."

"Gettin' hot and sweaty, eh?" Gunn teased.

Buffy rolled her eyes and walked in. "So," she suddenly looked ravenous, "Food?"

In the month and a half that Gunn had known Anne, he had picked up two key things: she was a lot stronger than she looked and she could eat her own bodyweight in food.

"I have a lot of premade peanut butter sandwiches, if you want one."

For a minute Buffy forgot about her hunger and just stared at Gunn with her head tilted to one side. "Why do you have premade peanut butter sandwiches?" she began to laugh, grinning at him.

"For high calibre company such as yourself," he replied promptly.

"Just so that you're aware," Buffy said from the fridge with said sandwiches in hand, "I would hurt you for saying that if I didn't really want these sandwiches."

Gunn sat down at his small square dinner table with Anne and watched in amazement as she ate all seven peanut butter sandwiches in ten minutes. Noticing the look on his face, she looked repentant. "I'm sorry, did you want one?"

Gunn, more amused than anything, shook his head. "I've haven't seen a woman eat like that in a long time."

When he had lived on the streets everyone had eaten like that, and that was because they were all aware that what they ate that meal could be their last for a day or a week because the street life was so unpredictable. Gunn couldn't think up any such excuse for Anne.

"Do you get fed?" he asked, half serious, half joking.

"Yeah, why?"

"_I_ couldn't have eaten all of that so quickly."

"I guess it's a talent of mine, then."

Anne stood up and looked unsure of what to do with herself. Gunn realised that he'd never actually made it clear just how much he liked this girl. Deciding that there was no time like the present, he stood and walked very close to her.

Anne looked surprised, "What are you doing?"

Gunn raised took hand and placed it gently on hers, his intentions were undeniable.

Buffy was unsure of what to do. She liked Gunn, she_ more_ than liked Gunn, but her mind argued that if she didn't fully know who she was, how could she let him know her? That was why she hadn't told him her real name yet, right?

All of her thoughts were silenced quickly by Gunn's' lips placed gently on hers. It was questioning and soft, he was telling her what he wanted and leaving it up to her. Her last semi-coherent thought was _'Gunn equals better kisser than high school boys'_.

Raising herself up on her toes, Buffy wrapped her arms around Gunn and held them firmly on his neck. He responded by pulling her closer, placing one hand on the small of her back and running the other through her hair.

As Buffy kissed Gunn she felt a flicker of something else, something almost like nostalgia. It was a faceless shadow, a spark, but it made her realise that whatever she'd had with Riley must have been phenomenal. As her kiss with Gunn deepened, that half-remembered feeling began to come full force into her chest and she felt frightened by the shapeless feeling.

Kissing Anne was like nothing else; the way she smelled, the way she felt, the way she kissed him. Gunn could have kept himself wrapped up in her for hours, stopping when she abruptly pulled away.

"Anne, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

Buffy crossed her arms defensively, her eyes darting continually across the room. "I don't... Remember."

"You don't remember what's wrong?" Gunn was becoming confused.

"I don't remember anything! It's all blank! There's_ nothing_ there!" she exclaimed, sweat beads developing on her face.

Gunn gently placed his hands on her arms and steered her into a seat, pouring her a glass of water. "Anne," he said softly, afraid of frightening her, "What don't you remember?"

Buffy looked up at Gunn and she felt guilty for wigging like she was. Raising the glass of water to her lips and drinking, she tried to tell him what she could. "I... I came to L.A. because I woke up one day and I couldn't remember living where I was. All my friends were dead, and I didn't even remember them, so I came back to L.A. I lived here when I was fifteen, it's the last memory I have before waking up. I can't remember the last five years of my life," she whispered desperately.

Gunns' first thought was that it could have been a spell, but it could have been something more everyday. Amnesia? "Do you know if you hit your head? Did you have a bump?"

"I don't_ know!_" she cried, putting her head in her hands.

"Okay, Anne, I'm going to drive you home and I want you to get some sleep and come back here tomorrow afternoon. We'll try to sort something out, alright?"

Buffy just nodded and trudged out of the room, Gunn following behind her.

*

Angel walked up the stairs to Gunns' apartment. He had been downstairs waiting for the lift for ten minutes before he realised that the stairs were there.

_Who said being immortal means being intelligent? _He thought.

Entering the stairwell, he saw a sign that read;

_'LIFT BROKEN. MAINTENANCE SCHEDULED FOR TUESDAY._

_APOLOGISE FOR INCONVENIENCE. - MANAGEMENT.'_

"Great," he muttered. He needed Gunn to help him wipe out a vampire nest, preparing to pull the line 'evil never sleeps' as an excuse for waking him so early when he approached the door and heard no heartbeat inside. Gunn must have been out. Angel headed disappointedly down the stairs just as Gunn walked back up them.

Gunn looked wearily at Angel, definitely not in the mood for fighting demons. "Hey Angel."

"Hey Gu -" Angel started, cutting off as a familiar scent reached his nostrils. He recognised the vanilla and strawberry scent in two seconds, and he had Gunn pinned to the stairwell wall in three.

"What the hell are you playing at?" He growled, his face transforming. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Angel," Gunn growled back, "What are you_ talking_ about?"

The surprise and anger in Gunns' voice was enough to pull Angel off him. As he stepped away, logic kicked in. Of course Gunn couldn't smell like Buffy. Buffy was_ dead. _

"I'm sorry. I thought... Never mind. Sorry." Angel headed back down the stairwell embarrassedly.

"Night," Gunn called out, too tired to follow him.

As Angel drove home he chose not to breathe, leaving the closest thing he had to her scent in his lungs as long as he could.

That night Angel dreamed of a different time; of vanilla and strawberries.

* * *

There you go. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you liked? :D


	8. That Ol' Slayer O' Mine

Okay guys, I know I've been a bit of a tease about Buffy and Angel with the almost-but-never-meeting. It's coming soon, don't worry.  
Thanks for all the support you've given me, it's made me inexplicably happy.  
Anyway, onto the story. Enjoy!

* * *

_'Morgan, Lilah.  
__Slayer, The: Summers, Buffy.  
__Post training assignment.'_

The document sat on Lilahs' desk and she spent the entire morning eagerly reading of the evil the Slayer would be performing without her knowledge. The case file was full of pestering demons that were causing problems for Wolfram & Hart and their morally questionable clients. There was an extensive list, ordered in ascending order of necessity from least to most important. At the top was _'Angelus/Angel; head of Angel Investigations' _and _'Chase, Cordelia; Seer for Angel Investigations {Strong link to P.T.B., high monetary value; **do not kill**}'_.

Lilah was certainly high in the good graces of the Senior Partners at this point in time, the successful capture and reprogramming of a Slayer shone on her sometimes less than stellar record; her nostrils were almost acquainted with the tantalising smell of that extra zero at the end of her yearly income.

Lilah was renowned for two things: her conviction and her undiscriminative malice, and being known for these characteristics at Wolfram & Hart was a feat not easily attained. She had spent years stabbing the backs of everyone within arms reach to rise to her current station, and it was not something that she was prepared to sacrifice without a fight. She had a game plan for the Slayer; she would start off killing those at the bottom of the list; the easier ones. She would then work her way up until she reached Angel, by which time she would have regained her Slayer skill and would be able to take him out without much difficulty.

_"How do you know that he won't kill her? I mean, if it's her or him."_ Adam had asked her the day before, to which she had replied smugly; _"Because he's a hero."_

After drawing up several contracts that acquitted one of their higher paying clients from several inconvenient – and true – murder allegations, Lilah began to plot and record her plans for the Slaying with more precision.

The memory-deprived Slayers' contempt for her former lover grew each day, the fire fuelled by nothing more than the truth of Angels' past.

Lilah was sure that no matter what happened when they met, it would be an event to remember.

Dialling Buffy's number, she disdainfully tolerated the incessant ringing until the mobile was answered.

_"Hello?" _

"Could you meet me at the training room -"

_"I could hardly call it a room, it's a whole house."_

Alright, if she was going to be smart then Lilah would play along, "Would you prefer me to call it a house?" she drawled patronisingly.

The other end of the phone was silent for a minute. _"Alright, go on."_

"Could you meet me there at six? There's a demon that you need to hunt, and I need to be sure that you're adequately prepared to meet with it."

_"Like, for coffee?"_

Lilah, accustomed to her ward's perpetual sarcasm, sated her pride by simply hanging up.

*

"What was that about?" Gunn asked, his arm draped loosely over Buffys' shoulders as they sat on his lounge watching an inane television show.

"Just the girl I live with. She wanted to meet up for coffee later."

"Cool. So, you wanna go out?"

Buffy turned to face Gunn. She had been with him for nearly two months, and not yet had she told him her real name - under Lilahs' strict orders. Choosing to leave that one, she had decided to tell him about her demon fighting, if not her true Slayer identity. She began her sentence much the same as she had when she had first told Lilah about her strange awakening. "Do you... Believe in things that can't be explained?"

Gunn nodded solemnly, "You mean like why The Amazing Race is a highly rating television show?"

Buffy shook her head. "You know what I mean. The things that go bump in the night. From what you've told me, the place you work kind of sounds like it fights things that are slightly... Unnatural. And not just the lobster on your business card."

"Angel," he corrected, meeting her eyes with equal intensity for a moment before exhaling loudly and grinning. "Thank God you know, I was running out of excuses for all of my colourful shirt stains."

Equally relieved, Buffy leaned over and placed her lips on his briefly. She was now hesitant to do much more than that, still afraid of the overwhelming and faceless feeling that had returned to her when she had_ really_ kissed him last time. The feeling that made the rest of them pale in comparison. The feeling that made her feel hollow.

Leaning back and reinitiating the conversation, Buffy told him what little she could. "I fight demons, too."

Gunn looked slightly taken aback but not altogether disbelieving. "You do?"

Buffy pouted, moderately annoyed by his surprise. Knowing how little she was, however, she understood. "I'm stronger than I look."

She could tell he was trying not to sound condescending, he really was, but he just couldn't pull it off. "But... You're so little?"

Taking it in good humour, Buffy punched him in the arm and watched his face flicker through different shades of surprise and settle on a puppy dog-like wounded face. "Okay, ow. _Ow._ Point taken. Anne: one, Gunn: zero."

There was that name again: Anne. It bothered her more than she was willing to admit that she had to use an alias with someone she felt so close to, but mostly she was afraid that when he found out who she really was, that she had lied, he wouldn't want anything to do with her. She sometimes wondered what she had been like in Sunnydale, and about the mysterious Xander – the only one of her friends she had a name for; whether she had lied like this then, too, or if in purging her mind of past unpleasantness she had lost some integral part of her being. Mostly though, she was tired of feeling faceless emotions that stung with the familiarity of memories lost and experiences past.

Deciding to go out for the day, Buffy and Gunn walked around town and spoke of demons as though it were the most normal subject in the world.

"So how long you been fightin' for?" Gunn asked and casually entwined his fingers with Buffys'.

"Well, they said I've been doing it since I was fifteen, but since I've got a pretty big break between broadcasts in here..." she tapped her head lightly. "What about you?"

"Pretty much all my life. I mean, my parents got killed by vamps when I was young so it was just me and my sister, then they got her too."

"The same ones?"

Gunn shook his head, "No, the vamps that got my 'rents were long dead by the time they got Alonnah."

"So how'd you get into investigating after that?" Although the two had already discussed these topics, a deeper trust between them allowed the conversation to seem entirely new. Buffy and Gunn sat in a little diner close to their homes and exchanged stories over milkshakes.

"Well my boss..." Gunn decided not to tell Buffy that Angel was a vampire, "He fights demons too. We didn't get along great at first, but he helped me out with a gang of vamps trying to hurt my crew and offered me a job with him later on. At first I was just hanging around, looking for new things to punch," he laughed, "But it's pretty great there. Do you want to come meet them sometime? I mean, for real. If you want, that is."

"I'd really like that. I can't do it today, though. I have this demon thingy that I have to go kill."

Gunn perked up – Buffy laughed as she realised that if he were a dog his ears would be sticking up high and his tail probably wagging. She then wondered why she had thought of that. "Really? What is it?"

"I don't really know. My Wat - wanker of a friend only tells me when we get there," Buffy said, amused by her quick save.

"Need some help?" Gunn asked hopefully.

"No, I think it's a training deal."

Trying not to look disappointed, he accepted her offer to go patrolling for demons the next night.

"Anne?" He whispered as they were walking back home.

"Yeah?"

"Are you... Have you gotten any of your memories back? I mean, I know we couldn't find any records of you, but being back where you grew up's gotta trigger somethin', right?"

Of course they hadn't found anything; Gunn didn't even_ know_ her real name. Buffy sighed, she'd only thought about this a thousand times. "I haven't gotten any memories back, but..." she paused, trying to formulate an understandable explanation – crazy was not a descriptive she needed added to her extensive 'things-wrong-with-Buffy' list. "It's hard to explain. I never get a picture, but I get... feelings. Almost like déjà vu. When I do and say certain things something inside my brain clicks and I... buzz."

Gunn arched one eyebrow sceptically. "You buzz? Like a bee?"

The corners of her lips rose up in a teasing smile, "No. I just... I get the frequency, I don't get the message, it's like static, but on a certain wavelength; I recognise it, but it still doesn't make sense."

Gunn seemed to be having difficulty asking the next question, his body language suddenly screaming 'closed for business'. "Do you think you'd be different if you had your memories?"

Unsure of why the question caused so much discomfort, Buffy held onto his hand tightly. "I don't know. I feel little bits of me coming back, every day. I'm the same person, but in one situation I'm automatically snappier or more sarcastic -"

"Is that even_ possible?_" he teased incredulously.

"You wanna find out big guy?"

"...Never mind, go on."

"It feels like every day I'm reverting back to who I was," she finished.

"Do you think that you'll get your memories back, too?"

Buffys' eyes were filled with doubt and fear that screamed the words she didn't. "I don't know."

*

It was The First. It was a demon. It was a ghost. Whatever it was, it was haunting him, and it was doing it well.

She was everywhere he looked; she was in the street carrying grocery bags, she was sitting on a bench in the park, hell; sometimes she was looking out at him from a window at Wolfram & Hart, but she was always there, just for a moment. Just long enough to pry his dead heart from his chest.

The reason that assured him that there was no chance it was really her was that on more than one occasion their eyes had met; he had looked into them and recognised so much of his own past, only to be met with a polite nod or a blank stare. There was nothing in her eyes that told him who she was. What she was. His.

*

Buffy stared out the window of the second floor of Wolfram & Hart, only half listening to Lilahs' instructions about her next mission.

"It's a male vampire," Lilah said and held up a picture for Buffy to memorise. "It should be in the downtown district and it's pretty hard to miss," she indicated the severe scarring on the vampire's face and absent nose.

"So why do I need to kill_ this _vamp in particular?" she asked, as always. She suspected that her perpetual curiosity was frustrating to Lilah, but thought nothing of it. She did the handy work, she deserved to know why her hands were needed.

"It eats children. Babies, to be more exact."

Buffy cringed - once incredibly fond of horror movies, she recognised that her life now resembled one much too closely for her liking. "Aren't there any vegetarian demons? Ick," recovering quickly as the adrenaline began to pump in preparation for the imminent brawl, she continued, "So how do I kill it?"

"The standard: decapitation, impalement, severing of limbs; all good avenues."

"Okay. Any weaknesses?"

Lilah threw her a heavy brown box. Opening the lid, their ears were filled with the artificial cries of a newborn and her eyes met with a plastic baby.

"Oh," The Slayer remarked, cautiously stepping backwards, "I knew you lawyers were evil, but... You've_ got_ to be kidding me."

Lilah met her gaze with her trademark stoicism. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Sighing, Buffy closed the lid on the 'newborn' and headed out the door. "You owe me!" she yelled over her shoulder, satisfied with the impassiven she received.

Once outside Buffy clicked two on her speed dial and waited for an answer.

"Here! I found your prophecy watchamacallit -" Gunn told Wesley, cut short by the startling vibrating in his pocket. Placing a musty old book on the table, a similar elation coursed through him when he recognised the number on his screen.

"Anne, hey," he greeted warmly.

"Hey Gunn, I got a special vamp to kill; care to join?" she offered.

"Hm," he feigned thoughtfulness, audibly thumbing through the pages of the hideously mundane book for effect, "I don't know if I can get out of _- yes._ Can I bring the team?"

"I think this is a two person job. Baby eating vamp, ugh."

"Nasty. I need any special weapons?" Gunn asked, grabbing his trusty axe and a less trusty – but still reliable – stake.

"No," Anne replied with annoyed humour in her voice, "I've got all the weapons we'll need here."

A piercing shrieking filled the air and Gunn hastily drew the phone away from his ear, "Oh God, what the hell is that?"

Anne's only response was an umbrageous snort.

"Okay, where do you want to meet?" he enquired, heading out the door and ignoring the vehemnt exclamations of his colleagues.

"By the sewer entrance near the park. Be discreet, this thing may prefer babies, but I'm going to take a stab – or, a stake – and guess that it's not too friendly to us of the eighteen plus age bracket either."

"I'll be there in five."

The two met up within five minutes and had the vamp killed within ten. Gunn was completely unscathed in the battle; however Buffy – usually the better of the two – turned her back at the wrong time and received a hefty two by four to the back of her head. At first stubbornly refusing to admit any injury, she made it fifty metres before falling to the ground limply.

"Anne?!" Gunn asked, frantically bending down to her level and fearing a worsened condition due to the second fall.

"Mm? Don't worry Gunn, I'm fine. I'll be good in no time," she mumbled, slurring her words so severely that they came out as; "Mm? DonwoyGunnamfine, albegooeenotime."

"I'm taking you to the Hyperion, I'll get Wesley to look over you," he assured her as he lifted her gingerly into his arms.

Buffy closed her eyes and murmured insincere (and indiscernible) assurances of perfect health, which fell comfortably on deaf ears.

*

Wesley sat at his desk, unsuccessfully attempting to get some work done. There had been a decrease in the supernatural in L.A. – supposedly due to an unnamed vigilante – but in the city that never slept, unfortunately neither did the paperwork, (although he had long suspected that this was because of a certain unnamed Seer's paperwork getting far too much rest).

Gunns' panicked voice boomed from the lobby. "Wesley! Angel! Fred! Cordy! Someone!" Wesley sped out immediately. Gunn was standing at the entrance doors with a bloody and unstirring woman in his arms.

"What happened?" he asked as he grabbed first aid supplies from underneath the front desk.

"She got hit in the back of the head with a two by four, there's a lot of blood, I'm gonna need you to bandage her. Is Angel here? I don't want him being too close to the blood."

"No – he's out working a case. Who is she?"

"Anne," Gunn said, laying her on the floor.

Her eyes were closed and her blonde hair was bleached with blood, but as her face rolled into view of one single fact Wesley was horrifically sure:

This girl was not named Anne.

* * *

Sorry guys, I just couldn't resist the chance to post this epic cliff-hanger.  
Ehehe, I had to add in 'the mysterious Xander'. I love that in her uneducated mind he is, essentially, Angel.


	9. With Friends Like These

Hey everyone! Updates will be less frequent as of now, because I've received a tonne of assignments and some serious writers block. They will keep coming, though, and I've got at least the next three chapters written already.  
I was originally only going to post the first part of this, but I put the whole thing together instead because I felt so bad for leaving you guys hanging last time.  


* * *

"Wes!" Gunn said with impatient confusion, "Come on, help her!"

For Gunn's sake Wesley temporarily silenced the conundrum of confusion in his mind and began to work over the injured girl. He grew more certain that it was the Slayer when he observed her wound healing right before his eyes. "She heals quickly, this wound will be fine," he told Gunn, wrapping bandages around her head - mostly for show.

Underneath the thick layer of concern Wesley saw a faint spark of suspicion. "Wait, how do you know she heals quickly?"

"I don't, but the wound you described and its following effects aren't present. There's little more than a scratch on her. Perhaps," he salvaged, unwilling to admit the truth until he knew it for himself, "She's simply an easy bleeder."

Gunn shrugged and leaned down to hold the imposter's hand. "Yeah, maybe."

In her condition, now was the perfect time to investigate. "The two of you were fighting demons?"

"Yeah, just a run of the mill vamp with a nasty diet."

"Is she competent?"

Gunn admiringly looked down at the sleeping girl, "Yeah... she's incredible."

If this was truly his ex-ward that was _supposed _to be dead, Wesley couldn't help but agree.

"Gunn, I think that you should take her back to your place," he said.

Gunn looked confused, "Why? She's not bleeding anymore."

"Cordy and I are going to be doing some weapons training, and that's probably not the most pleasant thing to be near when you're trying to rest and recover."

Gunn conceded, "Yeah, you're right. I'll bring her back to meet you guys when she's better, though?"

Wesley pressed his lips into a hard line and hid his concern, there would be time enough to figure out what to do. Hopefully. "Yes, alright. Some other time. Make sure she rests."

Nodding, Gunn carried the girl out the door; the only things left inside being first aid kit and a very confused Wesley.

*

"What do you mean Buffy's alive?" Cordelia whispered in disbelief; they were forced to whisper because although Angel was four rooms away, his preternatural hearing was still an inconvenience when trying to remain inconspicuous.

"I mean that the girl that Gunn's been dating who goes by the name is Anne is in fact Buffy, whether that means she's a clone or -"

"Willow told me that there was a Buffy robot, but they're using it in Sunnydale so that the demons don't know the Slayer is dead."

"When did you speak to her?"

"A few weeks ago. She was helping me with the security system."

"No, that's no good. He's been seeing this girl for months..." said Wesley.

"I can't believe that I've actually been watching Passions!" Cordy exclaimed out of nowhere.

"Well it is a rather addicting show, we all have our weaknesses... and the characters _are_ very engaging -" Wesley mumbled sheepishly.

"This is so much more dramatic!" she finished, then bounced back to what Wesley had accidentally admitted. "Wait, you watch -?"

"Let's not get sidetracked here," Wesley interrupted with his best and sternest impression of his father. "The pressing matter is that we have no idea what she is, or why she's here. I don't think that she's a cyborg of any kind; she bled like a human and her exceptional healing rate held true."

"But a cyborg could heal that quickly," Cordy pointed out.

"But how could a cyborg be so well designed that it looks like flesh that had healed? Who, beside her friends in Sunnydale has that kind of motive? _Creating _a Slayer? And who has that kind of funding?" Wesley conjectured aloud.

Their eyes met and they realised simultaneously who their culprit was.

"Wolfram and Hart," the two breathed in unison.

"So," Wesley said. "The question remains; do we tell Angel?"

Cordelia, who was battling feelings for Angel of her very own, was unsure of the answer to this in a detached and logical manner.

"Tell me what?" Angel cut in, leaning against the doorway and casting suspicious looks at the two. Wesley silently cursed the damn cliche that Angel had just emulated.

Cordy's eyes shot up and her mind went blank. "Uh..."

"Cordelia and I," Wesley said confidently, continuing an all-too-convincing portrayal of his father, "We were training and I accidentally broke your Roman battle axe."

Angel's face fell. "The markings on that axe dated back to the descent of indo-persian culture! Do you know how many people I had to kill to get that?!" When the two stared worriedly at him, he corrected himself, "I had a thing for gladiator weaponry at one point... As Angelus," he looked slightly embarrassed, not mentioning that he had also owned the armour.

"Did you own the armour and the helmet with the feathered hat, too?" Cordy asked laughingly.

Angel cast his eyes downward and grumbled indignantly, "No..."

Angel heard it before Wesley and Cordelia did; the entrance doors boomed open once more and two pairs of footsteps entered. Angel paid no mind to it, reliving his embarrassing gladiator armoury phase. Wesley rushed downstairs, hoping to God that Gunn hadn't brought Buffy back yet.

No such luck. There in the lobby he saw Fred facing in his direction and the no longer bloody blonde shaking her hand. Gunn had his arm wrapped delicately around her waist and was also facing the front door.

Sucking in a fearful breath, Wesley moved quickly back into the office that Cordy and Angel were now talking in.

"I was not a_ slave to trends_," Angel argued vehemently, "I was the most feared vampire in the history of the world!"

"Yeah," Cordy snorted, "If I saw you in a feathered hat, I'd be scared to death too."

Hearing Wesley enter again, Angel directed his attention to him. "What's up Wes?"

"Nothing," Wesley said, fretting. Did he tell Angel not to go downstairs and raise suspicion or act like everything was fine and hope that Angel and Cordelia resumed their argument?

"It doesn't look like nothing," Angel said, walking towards him. "Is there something happening outside?"

"What? No!" Wesley said, reverting back to his old gibbering Watcher-self in less than two seconds.

A normal person would have smelled the sweat on Wesley, and Angel was more perceptive than a human by a hundredfold.

"What is it?" Angel headed out the door towards the stairs.

"No, Angel, it's nothing," he assured Angel, trying to calm himself down and act more convincing.

Angel, reluctant to deal with anymore evil that night, leaned against the desk again and pretended to believe him for the moment. Wesley discreetly sighed in relief until Gunn shouted from downstairs;

"Angel! Cordy! Wes! Come down here!"

Wesley knew that the situation couldn't be salvaged, but it didn't stop him from trying. "Angel," he grasped Angel's arm, "I don't think you should go down there."

Cordy, finally catching on, grasped his other and began yammering. "Yeah, you shouldn't go down there Angel. It's just Gunn with a whole lot of paperwork, and we know that you're tired, so maybe you should just stay here -"

Angel glared at the two and freed his arms, but in the end it wouldn't have mattered whether he had gone downstairs or not because Gunn had already made his way up to them in search of his friends.

Angel wondered why they had worried about him seeing Gunn until he cast an eye to the comparatively tiny person seeking support from his frame.

"Hi," said Buffy politely, her features changing when her eyes met Angel's.

Disgust and rage flew across her face, and then she struck him.

*

_Earlier that night. _

"Lilah, why do I have to do so much_ theory?_ I've got it down pat: demon bad, Buffy good, stake handy," Buffy moaned, annoyed.

"Your theory lessons are almost over, there's just one last thing," Lilah said as she pulled out A4 sized pieces of laminated paper. "In the human world there are criminals and police, in the supernatural world there are demons and demon hunters - you especially. What I'm about to show you is what could be compared to as a government's Most Wanted list, but I'll only be showing you number one."

"Gee, let me guess, is it Angelus?"

Lilah held up the photograph, "Yes, it is."

Buffy looked shocked and slightly intrigued, "Wow. The name _is _appropriate."

Lilah nodded, "We've recently discovered that he is in fact living in L.A., which is where your... Methods-"

"Demon bad, Buffy good, stake handy."

"- Come into play," she continued, "He lives in a place called the Hyperion with some loyal staff. Do not kill them, they're all human. Excepting that they're all a little asinine, there's nothing particularly unique about them. Certainly nothing you can't handle. If possible, however, capture -" Lilah held up a picture of Cordelia Chase, the Seer, "- This one. She's harbouring information that's essential to the fight." Lilah just didn't mention which side, or the fact that the person she had been dating was one of the 'loyal staff'.

Sometimes she really loved her job.

The name 'Hyperion' triggered something in Buffys' mind, but she wasn't sure what is was. If she had been paying better attention when she was with Gunn she would have immediately known that it was his workplace, but the Slayer was not so observant as this and was left with an annoying whisper at the back of her mind trying to tell her the answer loudly enough, to no avail.

"But before you kill Angelus I need you to take on a smaller job. It's a male vampire," Lilah started, placing her files back on her desk and Buffy moved to look out the window. She picked up another picture and drew Buffy's attention to the severe scarring on the face and absent nose, "It should be in the downtown district and it's pretty hard to miss."

*

Buffy was in shock; _Gunn_ was one of Angelus' loyal staff members. Her head was reeling as she realised he was fighting for the wrong side, but mostly she was just having fun pummelling Angelus. She hit him for everything he had ever done to her and then some more, just in case Lilah had left anything out.

"ANNE!" Gunn yelled, trying to pull her off of his boss with Wesley, Fred and Cordelia. He had had nightmares about their first meeting going badly, but he didn't think that they would be this accurate.

"Buffy!" exclaimed Angel, blood stifling his voice as it poured down his face from his nose, causing his face to transform.

His daring to use her real name only infuriated the Slayer further and her foot solidly collided with the fallen vampire's ribs.

She didn't even feel the metal rod to the back of her head, everything just went black.

*

When Buffy woke up she was tied to a chair in the lobby with strong metal chains. She instantly regretted revealing her Slayer identity to Gunn after he had taken care of her head wound.

Angel's world was spinning off its' axis. Buffy was alive; she was living, breathing, beautiful Buffy. She was here.

And she wanted him dead.

"What do you mean her name isn't Anne?" Gunn shouted at Wesley, utterly overwhelmed by the situation.

"Her name is Buffy Summers. You know that she is the Slayer. What you don't know is that she died several months ago. We're not sure how she's back."

"My name is Anne!" Buffy yelled. This was now true at least, Lilah had legally changed her name three days before so that she could have her own life and still maintain a modicum of secrecy. Lilah had told her that Angelus' followers would know about her - try to manipulate her. She was unphased by their lies.

Gunn glared at Wesley with a venomous _'I told you so'_.

Cordelia held ice on Angels' nose and shot daggers at Buffy. "Isn't_ he _supposed to be the one who goes crazy and tries to kill people?" she jabbed her thumb in Angels' direction. Buffy didn't hesitate to shoot daggers right back. _'Just like old times'_, Cordy thought wryly.

"Of course he kills people," she condescended, "He's Angelus; the greatest evil to stalk Europe, and it's my duty to kick his ass back into the grave he crawled out of."

Gunn moved closer and looked to Anne. "Anne... Buffy... Whatever your name is, Angel isn't evil. He's good. He_ fights_ evil."

"They told me that he would say that. He's lying. He kills the innocent," she hissed, obviously begging for Gunn to understand.

"Anne," Gunn pleaded, brushing his hand along her cheek.

Even with her attempts to kill Angel, this gesture made him want to rip Gunn's throat out. Which, he then realised, really wouldn't help his case.

"Who told you that?" Gunn asked gently.

"Being tied up isn't a real great incentive for talking," she said, her tone less poisonous when directed at Gunn, then continued with, "Gunn, he's tricking you. This isn't good, or right. Come on, we can get out of here, just you and me," she pleaded.

"No one's leaving," said Wesley authoritatively and hovering close to the door.

"Okay, then tell us what think you know about Angelus," Gunn said softly.

"His name is Angelus -" she stared.

"Well obviously we_ know that,_" Cordelia cut in, looking more than a little annoyed at the situation.

"- He was sired two hundred and forty something years ago. For a hundred and fifty years he killed the innocent without mercy," she shuddered, remembering the stories Lilah had told her, "He kept a low profile for many years. I met him, I sent him to Hell, he came back and convinced me that he had a soul. Before he fled here he fed off of me. He came here under the pretence of doing good, but fooled the people that followed him and kept up his human-happymeal diet."

It was then that Gunn realised just who this was. "You're... You're Buffy Summers," he lifted his hand from her cheek as if it were on fire and faced Angel, "_YOUR _Buffy Summers?!" he asked, clearly distressed.

"I don't belong to that animal!" Buffy snarled.

"But you two..." Gunn said, his voice growing weaker as he slumped down in front of the desk, "Oh man. _Oh_, man. Angel... I'm sorry... Oh, man."

"We what?" Buffy asked, growing confused.

"Didn't you two..." Gunn started, "Weren't you in love?"

Angel nodded wearily and Buffy spat blood from her mouth on the ground. "In love? That _thing_ can't love! The only man I've ever loved was Riley Finn. And," she bit, "My name is_ Anne._"

A growl ripped out of Angel's chest as the boy was mentioned, and he was fairly certain the growl ripped his heart into shreds on the way out. Or maybe that was the love of his existence wishing his death. Probably the latter.

"Wait..." Gunn asked as he stood, "How do you remember this all? I thought you said you couldn't remember anything from the last five years."

"Something's been implanted in her mind," Wesley suggested from the corner of the room, he and Fred buried in books.

"God, for someone with their nose that deep in a book, you think you'd consider that I could have just_ researched it_?"

Wesley moved closer to her and pushed Gunn away. "Where did you research it?"

Buffy remained silent, refusing to give up Lilah to these misguided heroes and the demon.

"_Where_ did you research it, Buffy?"

"My. Name. Is. ANNE," she yelled disobediently into his face.

Wesley maintained a calm demeanour. He strode calmly to the weapon shelf and calmly sliced a line from her arm down to her wrist.

Buffy kept her lips in a hard line and refused to show her pain, no sounds of any kind escaping her. Gunn and Angel, however, both bellowed and lunged at Wesley. Gunn landed first and swiftly connected his fist and Wesley's nose, much like Buffy had earlier.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he roared.

"Getting answers," Wesley replied, still the picture of calm. Before Angel broke his arm, anyway. Wesley, like Buffy, kept any and all exclamations of pain to himself.

Gunn and Angel both looked to Buffy whose head had lulled onto her chest, blood from her arm pooling quickly under her chair.

"Oh, my God!" Cordelia exclaimed, throwing Angel some bandages. Angel hastily stemmed the bleeding and moved away from the Slayer before she woke.

"Gunn," Buffy stirred, and Angel felt a stab of jealousy as the injured girl called Gunn closer. "Gunn," she said again, her eyes opening.

"Yeah?" he asked, eyeing Angel, half guiltily, half angrily. It was fairly obvious how Angel felt about all of this, but Anne was Anne now, she wasn't Buffy anymore, and she cared for him, not Angel. As loyal as he was to his boss, if he left her now then she'd have one less person who cared for her in her life, and he wasn't so sure that her room-mate was legitimate. He couldn't do that to her.

"They're...tricking you," she whispered, "Don't get caught in it."

Gunn lifted her head for her and met her eyes. "Anne, was your name really Buffy?"

Still weak from blood loss, she nodded. "I...changed it. Didn't want...to lie," she heaved out.

"I think she might need a hospital," he said desperately to the room.

Wesley, all but forgotten in the corner with his broken arm, told them that he had already called one for himself.

"I don't...need a hospital..." Buffy struggled to speak, her breathing was jagged and irregular.

Gunn started to untie the chains with a key from his pocket.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Wesley yelled as he stormed over. Seeing sense as he watched her limply fall onto Gunn however, he receded backwards.

"Come any closer and I'll break your other arm," Gunn told him bluntly as he lifted the girl into his arms. "We get her treated, then we'll clear this whole thing up."

Wesley was infuriated by his lack of consideration for their employer. "I'd like 'clearing this whole thing up' to_ not_ be sweeping up a pile of dust."

"Charles," Fred spoke at last, "Who's her room-mate?"

"...She never told me. I never asked," Gunn told replied, holding a now unconscious Slayer in his arms.

"It could be important to find out who or what's been putting these ideas into her head," Fred said.

"Three guesses who," Angel muttered. "Who hates us enough to want to destroy us all?"

Before Wesley and Cordy could reaffirm what they had figured out previously the ambulance arrived and Wesley, Gunn, Buffy and Angel all headed for it. Cordy and Fred agreed that they would do some research into a spell or enchantment that could cause whatever was happening, volunteering to stay back.

Wesley stepped into the ambulance and ignored the paramedic attempting to fuss over his arm as the other assured Gunn that Buffy's wounds weren't life-threatening. "Angel, I think it would be best if you stayed here."

Angel angrily accepted, receiving a promise that he would be called as soon as it was known that Buffy was okay. Whatever 'okay' meant right now.

* * *

And there you have it. I actually wrote another scene in the ambulance with a paramedic named Will that I grew to like very much, but much to my chagrin it brought nothing new to the story as I had already said that Buffy would be fine in the second last paragraph. I had a lot of fun writing this, but there is one thing that I know might bother you guys, because it would bother me. Darla never got pregnant, which means that Connor was never born, which means that Wesley never kidnapped him got his throat cut and in turn should be more Watcher-esque than he is. My explanation for this is that, simply, he was fighting demons for long enough that he learned to do what he thought he needed to. It's an easy way out, but between that and his desire to protect Fred (which always brought out the manly man in him), I felt like it was justification enough for him to cut what he thought was a tool of Wolfram & Hart. Feedback is welcome, if you liked it feel free to let me know. Really. ;D


	10. No Tears, Only Love

Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. Things are really getting interesting now, and I'm having a lot of fun writing memory-loss Buffy. It's frightening though, still having no idea how I'm going to end this. I'm pretty satisfied that Buffy and Angel have met, even if she pummel him into the ground. As always, read and enjoy.

* * *

Buffy groggily awoke in the hospital bed, the heart-rate monitor beeping constantly.

There was a man kissing her forehead lightly, and her Slayer instincts told her straight away who it was.

Her first thought was that, for a life-sucking demon, he smelled nice. She automatically attempted to raise her arm in an effort to shove him away from her, but the morphine made her weak and lethargic and all she achieved was a small, unnoticeable twitch in the hand of her injured arm. Hoping to silence the pain shooting through her arm, she drifted back into comfortable unconsciousness, thinking no more of the vampire.

According to the doctors, the morphine would keep her knocked out for hours. Angel knew that for a Slayer this meant she would be out for an hour, tops.

Using this time, he stayed with Gunn and watched over her. When Gunn left to get some food for when she woke up (and a coffee for himself, as it was past midnight), Angel gently pressed his lips to her forehead. He could have sworn he felt her stir, but after a few seconds she was still again. Angel tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything, she'd always moved a lot in her sleep, anyway.

Sadly removing himself from her bedside and seating himself back into the chair on the furthest side of the room, Angel mediated upon what he would say to Gunn.

Gunn, silenty returning to the room, beat him to the punch. "Maybe you should get outta here, I don't want her going Slayer on your ass when she wakes up."

Angel indicated her arm with a flick of his wrist in her direction and shrugged, "I'm not really that threatened."

"I didn't say it was for your sake," Gunn replied coldly, his anger and confusion with the whole situation rendering him hostile.

"Gunn..." Angel tried to figure out how to say what he needed to, and to a major extent what that was. "Buffy and I–"

Gunn's nostrils flared but he made a deliberate effort to calm himself. "Her name is Anne now. Look – I know you two had something, and I know it was big, and I'd never do anything with Buffy, but this isn't Buffy. She doesn't remember you, Angel. This isn't about me wantin' her for myself; she hates you, and we don't know who's putting all this stuff into her head. I can't abandon her, man. It wouldn't be right; I'm all she's got."

Angel glared menacingly, he knew that he and Buffy couldn't be together, but he also knew his limits. He couldn't live with her so close to him all the time, feeling nothing for him. It would distract him from his work, and it would probably tear him apart. "Not for long."

"Angel, you left her! Why are you trying to get her back? You_ can't_ be with her. You'd only end up leaving her again. This isn't the girl you knew, she's different," Gunn said, his body language stating _'and she's mine'_.

Angel found himself temporarily stumped by the totally logical question which he had been delicately blocking out ever since the tiny blonde had appeared and started assaulting him. What_ did_ make this different? Was he going to act like a petulant child and try to win her back because someone else had her?

_Yes._

_No. _

His mind contradicted itself again and again, conflicting answers swarming within it. He was no closer to deciding on his course of action when he got back the Hyperion than when he had left it earlier. Just as he was ascending the stairs to his room, he realised that there was someone he needed to talk to.

*

Hearing a knock on her office door, Cordy welcomed the unknown guest in.

"Angel," she shuffled some papers and hastily shoved them away, attempting nonchalance, "Was there something you needed?"

"Um," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "Could I sit?"

Cordelia knew what was coming, what was happening and her heart responded accordingly, but still she allowed him to give her the talk that she knew she would have had to suffer through the day that Buffy and Angel decided they had grown up enough that they could work out their problems and be together.

Cordelia was tactless sometimes, but deep down she was gentle. Like a true actor, she hid the emotion she felt the most: when her heart was breaking, she smiled and embraced her dearest friend.

Angel's social skills had improved a vast amount over the last few years, and he found that he was able to be honest with Cordy without nearly as many awkward silences as he feared.

"I... I love you, Cordy. I feel like we were heading that way, but..." he paused, regathering his thoughts, "Buffy is... A part of me. We're connected; I can't walk away from that, not when she needs me, even if she doesn't know it yet."

Cordy allowed tears to sparkle in her eyes, but she held them captive._ 'No tears, only love_,' she told herself.

"I understand. You're a good man, Angel," she whispered, placing her palm on his cheek. Pretending to brighten up she smiled, mock punched him on the arm and said, "Now go play the hero."

Angel nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude for her. He knew what he needed to do now.

_No tears, only love._

*

Buffy felt whatever had been keeping her mind dormant and constricted suddenly lift and her eyes sprung open, observing that she was in a hospital bed with an injured arm; this observation brought memories of the one with the glassesf taking a blade to her arm. She could hear the never ending cycle of life and death outside her room. She could hear everything. Every stutter of a failing heart, every breath of a newborn baby. The sighs of relief and the cries of anguish that accompanied each event. She could hear it all.

And it was grating on her nerves.

Wincing as she pulled several tubes with different coloured liquids out of her, she grounded herself unsteadily and grabbed a pair of jeans that were placed on her bedside table, promptly smashing the beeping machine next to her with ease. There were too many situations in which she felt irrational fear or foreboding, but she _did _remember why she was so afraid of hospitals; seeing your cousin die in front of your eyes would deter anyone from them.

Lilah: that was who she needed. She hadn't been in the apartment for two days – she was probably worried.

Angelus and Gunn were standing outside her room in a heated argument.

"How long have you known her? Five seconds. I know this girl–" growled Angel, who held strong under the larger man's glare.

"Why can't you get it through your head? She's not the same person. She's not mooning over you, _she tried to kill you._"

"Not exactly a new thing for us," Angel retorted.

"There's no _'us'!_ To her, there's only the Slayer and the vampire. I know you're different, but _she doesn't_," said Gunn. They had been having and reiterating the same argument for hours, neither budging an inch.

Buffy moved towards the exit, eager to discreetly escape the place that brought her so much unease. As she placed her hand on the door handle to exit, the nurse that had treated her before recognised her.

"Dear, you'll have to come back with us, there's no way you can leave. Your injury is far too severe."

Becoming nervous when the rest of the waiting room drew their eyes to her, she went on the defensive.

"No, I'm fine," she assured the woman sweetly, trying to leave without making a scene. Too late; Gunn and Angel had both realised she was there and were making their way over to her. Still reluctant to harm the kind-looking woman, Buffy simply shook her off (even though her instincts told her to knock the woman out) and sprinted outside.

"Taxi! Taxi!" she yelled as she ran onto the road (yet again) and hailed a cab. Angel made it outside first, grabbing her arm firmly. She was stunned by his being considerably stronger than the average vampire.

"Buffy, don't run, we need to talk to you," he pleaded.

She promptly rammed her fist into his face, "I. Don't. Need. To. Talk," a punch filled each pause, "To a _vile. Creature. Like. You."_

Throwing the twenty she had in her pocket at the man driving the cab that had pulled over for her, Buffy gave him her address and sped off.

Gunn ran outside and found not Anne, but a pretty badly beaten Angel. Again. Although he was angered by the situation, Gunn wished his boss no ill-will. Giving him a look that said'I told you so' Gunn helped Angel back to the hotel to get him fixed up.

"Should we go after her?" Angel mumbled, not really up to decision making at that point.

Gunn shook his head, "No, she'll come back when she's ready. You can hold your own against an enraged Slayer who has absolutely no positive feelings for you and wants nothing more than your ashes in a trophy on her mantle, right?"

Angel didn't look so sure.

*

Lilah was never one to lose her head: she was a calm, cool thinker and it was what helped to make her so dangerous. She liked the Slayer, but her death would be of no concern other than a major business inconvenience.

"Yes? The vampire's dead, then?" Lilah snipped into the phone. The Slayer had been hospitalised, but when Lilah had been assured that it wasn't life-threatening she had instead revised and pursued several business expenditures that required her attention. "Good. Yes, Buffy's in the hospital. Tell the Senior Partners that the deal can go ahead. No, don't worry; she'll kill who I tell her to. No, she's unaware of that. No, an assassin seems to... Crass," she drawled, "I think we need the personal touch for this one. Angel dead at her hand, it's too ironic to pass up. Of course she does, who do you think I am; you?"

At that moment Buffy crashed through the front door, looking instantly relieved to be back. She walked over to Lilah and waited for the flow of questions. Lilah, already knowing the answers, decided to play anyway.

"Where were you?"

"I killed the vampire. I tried to kill Angelus, his_ friends,_" the word dripped with an acidic inflection that she had picked up from Lilah, "knocked me out. Tied me up. You were right, they knew who I was. They tried to convince me that they were good. No one that dresses in _that_ much black could ever be good," she said with more of her usual lightness incorporating itself into her tone.

"And you were there the entire time? How did you escape?" Lilah asked, placing Buffy in a seat at the table.

Buffy shook her head, "No. They tried to get me to talk about you, about what we're doing. I wouldn't, so the one with the glasses – Wesley?" Lilah nodded, "Cut me. It's already healed, but I'm not sure about the scar." Buffy raised her arm and tore off the bandaging, revealing a long, white scar – that extended from her elbow up to her wrist, half a centimetre away from the main vein in her arm – for Lilah to look at.

Lilah held a neutral expression as she examined the scar. "It should fade soon enough, your healing process is fairly accelerated."

"Good," Buffy sighed, relieved, "I was worried that I'd have to do one on the other arm to match."

Lilah simply stared at her, waiting for some continuance of the more important topic.

"That was a joke, Lilah."

"Yes, very funny. How did you get yourself to the hospital?"

"They broke Wesley's arm after he went all stab-happy on me," Buffy replied, looking resentful because she hadn't been able to do it herself.

"It was probably prearranged," Lilah dismissed.

Buffy wasn't as certain. She had felt the most confused when the vampire had lunged at the man who had cut her arm. She told herself it was a ploy to gain her trust, determined to think of it no more. "Probably. The man called an ambulance and I got dragged along for the ride, too."

"And you came straight here from there?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do?" asked Lilah, referring to the members of Angel Investigations.

"I'm..." Buffy was unsure, she didn't want to hurt Gunn, but she wasn't sure what else there was. He killed the innocent. Before she had replied, Lilah was speaking again.

"Buffy, I know it isn't pleasant," she began, her voice strong and reassuring, "but sometimes sacrifices must be made. I know they're human, but for the good of the world, they may have to die."

"All except the Seer?" Buffy stood and gathered weapons, her face a mask of determination.

Lilah, pleased by her readiness, relished the sight of Buffy holding the instruments that would bring about so much death. "Yes."

Before Buffy walked out the door, she turned to Lilah once more;

"Then they die."

*

The most important thing to realise is that Buffy never actually planned to kill the human members of Angel Investigations. She was simply heading there for the one thing that she had been searching for since she had woken: answers.

_Buffy dragged herself from the lift to the apartment door, which was unfortunately at the end of the hall. She could hear Lilah on the phone from ten metres away, she was using what Buffy dubbed her 'crazy bitch' voice. Lilah insisted that she call it her 'business voice' instead. Buffy ignored that particular recommendation. Preparing to walk in, she paused when she heard her name being spoken. _

_"– The deal can go ahead. No, don't worry, she'll kill who I tell her to. No, she's unaware of that. No, an assassin seems to... Crass. I think we need the personal touch for this one. Angel dead at her hand, it's too ironic to pass up. Of course she does, who do you think I am; you?" _

_Okay, now things were getting too confusing. Buffy refused to think ill of the person who had welcomed her into her home all those months ago. Her Watcher. Her mentor._

_Now that she thought about it though, it was a bit odd that a Watcher was a part of a law firm and not working with the Watcher's Council directly. She had thought this before, but she'd never had a reason as to why it_ wasn't_ possible. It seemed clearer now though, she was being used. Determined not to show any sign of suspicion in case it did happen to be true, Buffy began to pant heavily and barged into the apartment. _

_Lilah looked surprised, thoughtful, concerned and then decisive. "Where were you?" _

If there was one single thing that had failed to change in Buffy's absence, it was that no one in this town was what they seemed.

Almost as soon as Buffy had stepped out with her bag of weapons and spare clothes, it began to storm. Thunder raged in the sky and the rain poured mercilessly down on her. The drenched Slayer reached the Hyperion fairly quickly, thankful for the small distance between.

Now came the hard part; to knock, or not to knock. Buffy couldn't strolling listlessly into the hotel, but she couldn't exactly imagine knocking on the door with a 'hi, I'm sorry I punched you in the face more times than I can count, help me?'

The second option seemed even more implausible because the Slayer wasn't sorry for punching the murderous demon in the face, and she imagined she probably would again. Luckily for her, the two seemed to have some sort of complicated history – in his mind, anyway – that she could play to her advantage, so the Slayer walked up to the door, knocked and prayed to God that Gunn was the one to answer the door.

No such luck. It wasn't Gunn, but Angelus who answered the door. She measured many different emotions as they played across his face, all halting as he simply stood there expectantly.

She hadn't counted on the vampire being laconic, and was almost rueful that he didn't simply hit her. "I – you... M – no," she jumbled indecisively through a number of incoherent sounds before stopping herself and forming a sentence. Raising her eyes to his, she made certain that her features were void of the disdain that she felt so strongly in that moment. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.

"Tell me who I am."

* * *

There we go, I'm getting there slowly. I finished it there because I know that it'll take me another week to write the next chapter, and I felt bad leaving you guys hanging for so long.  
Also: I know the Gunn choosing a girl over Angel thing was a bit out there because he's pretty loyal, but in my opinon if someone he cared about was so vunerable, no matter what her past was, he wouldn't abandon her, because Buffy hates Angel and she doesn't know anyone else. Gunn knows he's all she's got, which is why he's sticking by her instead of moving over for Angel. I'll try to update soon.  
If you liked it, feel free to review. :D


	11. Hurricane a' Blowin'

Here it is, seven days later, as promised. I'm nursing a serious case of writers' block right now, so forgive me for the shorter-than-usual chapter – this is kind of a part two to the last chapter. Thank you so much everyone for commenting. As always, read and enjoy.

* * *

Buffy stuttered through several monosyllabic vowel sounds before she appeared to harden her resolve; her eyes bored into him and he could tell that she was doing her best not to emote. Her lips parted and a flicker of desperation danced across her features, leaving as quickly as it had appeared.

"Tell me who I am."

Angel could have turned her away, and some part of him – probably the one closest related to the broken nose and cheekbones he was sporting for the moment – seriously urged him to. However, he found himself unable to deny those golden flecked eyes, even when they looked at him the way they did; like they were trying very hard not to hit him again.

Silently stepping aside, he granted her access into his life; her and all the problems she carried.

Even the demon inside him told him that this wasn't going to end well, and that was saying something.

*

Fred and Cordelia sat on her bed as she quizzed Cordy about their very violent newcomer.

"So, why don't you like Buffy? Anne? Whatever her name is," she asked, "I mean, apart from the whole trying-to-kill-Angel thing."

"Her real name's Buffy, I don't know why she's changed her name. Well, I guess I do; if I had a name that stupid..."

"Please continue,_ Cordelia_," Fred teased.

Cordy pretended to glower at her. "Anyway, she was the main Slayer back in Sunnydale. Little Miss Righteous and I never really got along –between the weirdness and the taste in clothing, there was no compatibility. Oh, and she and Angel _redefined_ the word angst, I'll tell ya," Cordy sat up straighter and continued, "She's good at saving the world and stuff, but she's got a pretty solid record of ruining mine. First there was Xander Harris–"

"Who?" Fred queried.

Cordelia chuckled, "No one, but my point is that I don't think Angel Investigations will be able to handle Hurricane Buffy. Where ever she goes, destruction and brooding inevitably follow. Case in point," Cordy motioned to the open door visible down the hall in which Angel could be seen sitting in his chair with his hand clenched in a thoughtful position under his chin and stone-cold, pensive look on his face. If he weren't already a centuries-old animated corpse, Fred would have sworn he were dead.

Now for the thing that had really been pestering Fred; "Why do you think she lost her memory?"

Cordelia apparently had no more of an answer to that than she did. "I don't know, but _I'm telling you, _if I had suffered through half the haircuts she's had, I'd probably want to block everything out too."

Fred smiled, the question of Buffy's memory loss still plaguing her mind. She wondered if Angel and Gunn would let her run some tests.

Rapping sounded at the door and Angel started, racing down the stairs in what would – even for a vampire – be considered record time.

"Are you," Fred began cautiously, "Are you and Angel still –?"

Cordy smiled half-heartedly. "No. Like I said..." she shrugged, "Hurricane Buffy."

_"Tell me who I am_," Buffy's voice sounded from downstairs, the ambience amplifying her voice for those in the top corridors. Cordy's face remained unchanged, although Fred_ did_ notice her left eye twitching a little.

It was probably just her overactive imagination, but as the thunder raged a second later Fred could have sworn it boomed out two words:

_Hurricane. Buffy._

*

Angel sat Buffy down in front of his desk, glad that he had been able to persuade Gunn to give them a moment so that she could ask her questions – and he, his – privately. Gunn had insisted that he and Buffy might get into a fight without another person present, but Buffy – who had allowed herself to be called that several times – had crossed her arms and told him flat out that she could take care of herself. Angel took solace in the fact that even with a five year gap in her memory, she remained as stubborn and independent as ever. Some traits were just too deeply ingrained.

"Okay. What do you want to know?" Angel began. Even with his social mannerisms now more tolerable he was still not used to having to start conversations with anyone he wasn't threatening.

Buffy's face looked tired and Angel could see a gaunt hopelessness dimly hidden underneath a thin veil of disguise. "I want you to tell me, and remember that I don't necessarily believe you, but I think it's important to have both sides of the story, and since you've apparently got a pretty detailed side of the story that I need to help me –"

Yep, the rambling was still there too.

After thirty seconds of inane babble he finally interrupted, "Look, how about you ask me questions and I answer them. It seems easier than me retelling everything," _and it was probably less likely to get him hit again. _

"Did you sire Drusilla, and by extension Spike?"

This wasn't a question he was expecting, but he still confirmed it with a blunt "Yes."

"Did you try to kill me and everyone I loved in my second year in Sunnydale?"

"Yes, but -"

"Did you give me this oh-so-special love bite?" asked Buffy, running her index finger across her neck.

"Yes, but -"

"What were we?"

Angel didn't know how to answer that – he didn't completely understand it. "... You were always human."

Buffy gave him a look that told him quite plainly that she not only wanted him dead, she thought he was a moron. "Not what_ am_ I. What were we? What were you to me? What did I mean?"

Seizing the opportunity, he sat forward on his elbows and Angel replied; "I'm not answering those questions unless you tell me who your Watcher is."

Buffy seemed taken aback by the attempt at negotiation. "No." Then, considering, "I'll tell you. But I've got to have your word," she paused, making it clear that she didn't trust 'his word', "as well as the word of everyone here that they won't be harmed, maimed, tortured or killed."

"We don't do that here. _I _don't do that. Not anymore."

"Your body count begs to differ," she rebuked, adding, "And so does my arm."

"I'm sorry about your arm," Angel mutterered ruefully.

"It was worth it," she retorted. Even without her memory, she knew where to hit so it hurt.

"Well," Angel said angrily, reacting to her comment, "You either take the deal or you can leave. Who's your Watcher?"

"Fine," the Slayer huffed, "You seem to have cared for me in the past, but don't forget that the only knowledge I have of you is the maimed bodies etched into my mind. I have no qualms in killing you."

"And I have no qualms in charging you rent," Angel rebutted. Did he just make a joke? He didn't feel like joking. He felt like going out and killing every demon he could find. Something to channel the pain and rage flowing through him in that moment. That, or just going to sleep for a really. Long. Time.

Buffy's face softened – he swore she was about to laugh, but her face clouded over again and her mask was back. She looked at him coldly. "I never said I was staying."

"Aren't you?"

Buffy almost felt guilty. Something deep inside told her that this vampire had genuinely cared for her, and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she had cared for him too. That kind of gentleness when faced with a death threat didn't bloom from unrequited love or passing affection.

_Love_?! The Slayer chided herself. She was letting her mind get carried away. Whenever she was faced with any new ideas about her old life, her mind seemed to spring to the most ridiculous thing it could think of.

If possible, Buffy became even more aggravated due to her mind considering that she could ever love a vampire, even one that let her stay in his hotel.

Buffy had been staring at her lap for a whole minute. Angel cleared his throat loudly to recapture her attention – something that he'd never had to do before. Sufficiently focused, Angel repeated his terms.

"Who's your Watcher, Buffy?"

"Anne."

Angel glared at her, "You wanted to know who you are? Well, I'm telling you. You're Buffy."

No response was giving to that. Finally Buffy met his gaze, "Lilah Morgan."

Angel was not overly surprised, "She's your Watcher?"

"Yes," from the look on Angelus' face, she felt the need to reiterate, "No harm is to come to her."

Angel reluctantly nodded and extended his hand to shake. Buffy once again looked taken aback, warily placing her comparatively tiny hand in his and shaking. He wondered if she felt the shock of electricity that he did when they touched. Her face suggested that she didn't.

Physical attraction to a vampire? Physical attraction to _The Scourge of Europe_? She had to have been the worst Slayer in the entire history of Slayerdom.

"Now you answer me," Buffy demanded.

"Answer you what?" Angel asked confusedly.

"What_ were_ we?" She folded her arms as if to protect herself from whatever horrific answer he would give.

"Do you want the abbreviated version?"

"That depends, am I going to lose another five years of my life?" she replied, almost tauntingly.

"No. Three at the most," he assured her.

"Well, alright then," she settled, moving to place her head in her hands on his desk but instantly recoiling because of their proximity.

"I loved you," he played it on the safe side and used the past tense. Neither his mind nor Buffy were stable enough to deal with the very likely possibility of his perpetual and unstoppable love. "And you loved me too."

Buffy wanted to snort and say 'Pfft, not likely', but something in the mans' – _vampires'_ earnest expression stopped her.

"We were together for three years–"

"Wait–" she interrupted with obvious confusion, "You were only in Sunnydale for two years."

Angel felt his anger bubbling to the surface. Not killing Lilah Morgan was going to be_ very_ arduous. "I came to Sunnydale the same time you did."

Angel could see a little of His Buffy shining through, her endearing child-like curiosity sparkling at the surface. "Why?"

Angel shrugged, "To help you."

"Why?"

Angel grinned, "You needed it."

Buffy grumbled. "Bet I didn't."

"Anyway, this is where it gets sort of confusing. As you know, I have a soul," Angel didn't miss Buffys' look of scepticism, "The soul was given to me to ensure that I suffered for all that I had done as Angelus," seeing Buffy begin to ask why, he explained, "It was given to me by the Romani after I killed a favourite of their clan. If the curse is broken I lose my soul. The second year in Sunnydale, I lost my soul. I tried to destroy everything you loved and send the world to Hell. My soul was restored, but the only way for the portal to close to save the world was my blood. You sent me to Hell. I was brought back a few months later by a great evil. You and I tried to..." Angel didn't like explaining everything they'd gone through in a five minute summary, "It didn't work. I left. I came here."

"Boy, I sound like the life of the party."

His chest aching as he remembered their relationship, Angel quickly became desperate to get Buffy out of his sight. Once she was better, she'd recovered, gotten her memory back, she could leave L.A.

"Anne?" A voice called from outside. "You okay in there?"

_Oh yeah,_ Angel remembered,_ Gunn._

"I'm good!" Buffy called back in a much more chipper tone as she pushed away from Angels' desk. "Well, I'm pretty much done here. Thanks for the trip down memory lane," she said with sincerity.

"You can stay in the room at the very end of the hall; it's empty and the bed's pretty comfortable," Angel told her.

Buffy looked back in confusion, "Uh, I think I'll just stay in Gunn's room."

"Oh."

Yes, he was going to go insane.

* * *

Thanks for reading. If you liked, feel free to let me know via review. Really. :D


	12. Mi Casa Es Su Casa

Hey guys! Thank you so, so much for the reviews, favourites, alerts and etc. I forgot to mention this last chapter, so I will now: one hundred comments! Let's all do the dance of capitalist superiority! *Waves money above head*.  
If you didn't get that, it was a supreme Anya reference.  
Anyway, lame jokes aside. I've combined two chapters here, because if I had split it where I intended then I would have left you with two consecutive cliiffhangers, which would have made me feel bad. So, appreciate that this is reaally long compared to my usual length, and that I may not update for a week or two. I promise to try, though.  
Onto the story! As always, read and enjoy.

* * *

The next few days were hell for Angel; between the uncomfortable awkwardness between he and Cordy that they both pretended wasn't there and the constant sight of Buffy and Gunn together, it wasn't the best time for him.

Even without her memories of being the Slayer, Angel still found himself loving everything about Buffy as much as he had back in Sunnydale. There were some changes to her, but the main points of her disposition had been untainted by Lilah and Wolfram & Hart. He was exceedingly thankful for that.

Wolfram & Hart; Buffy had seemed to believe Angel about what he had divulged of her history, and after forcing Gunn to drag her to several demon bars and have people and demons they had never met attest to its villainy, she came around fully.

Buffy still harboured a soft spot for Lilah – much to the disgust of everyone else – and was less eager, but not unwilling, to hurt her. Lilah was unaware of Buffy's sudden changing of sides, still under the impression that she was out killing them all. Any day now Lilah would get word of her betrayal, and Angel wasn't sure what would happen to her.

The Slayer had, for the most part, eased up on Angel. His cheeks and nose had healed and she hadn't tried to hit him again. Well, okay, hadn't succeeded in hitting him. He still harboured a constant stinging in his chest that stemmed from the knowledge that she thought he was everything she fought against.

Angel Investigations had been arguing about Wolfram & Hart for the last few days; Buffy insisting that she could just go in there and kick their asses, Gunn chuckling at her and pulling her closer, Angel snapping and saying that it was a suicide mission, Wesley, Fred and Cordy agreeing, and then it would start all over again.

*

"How are you doing, Angel?" Wesley had asked a few days after Buffy had moved in with them.

"How do you _think_, Wes?" Angel snapped, then guiltily said, "Sorry. Just..."

"I understand. It must be awkward for you, seeing them together."

Angel rolled his eyes, "Oh, you have no idea."

"I understand that you and Buffy hadn't been together for some time and I know that it hurts, but Gunn got to know this girl. She's not the Buffy you remember," Wesley said, always very cogently.

"Beg to differ," Angel mumbled. Throwing Wes an exasperated look he said, "Do you think it's the hair? I mean..." he ran his hand through his spiked hair with an insecure expression.

Wesley tried not to laugh, and aided by the mental picture of his male colleagues in their underwear, he didn't. "... No, Angel. It's not the hair. When," he became more business-like, "Are you going to call Sunnydale?"

Angel mimicked his change in tone. "I want to keep her here for a little while. I know they'd want to know, but she's made relationships here," he didn't let the bitterness seep into his voice, "I'm not sure that she would leave. We'll call them after we've tried everything _we_ have. If she remembers and we can just take her back, it will be a lot easier for all of us. Besides, we need her help with Lilah. She won't be here forever. Cordy said that they're doing fine in Sunnydale, right?"

"Yes, but Angel," Wesley replied with concern, "I'm not entirely sure that that's the best idea."

Angel shrugged, "It's all we've got."

*

Buffy became, if possible, more confused during her stay at the Hyperion. She knew that Wolfram & Hart were evil and was – unbeknownst to the rest of them – preparing to meet with Lilah the next day, but this was not the thing causing the most strife.

Gunn and the vampire, Angel – who she was told had been very friendly with Gunn beforehand – had suffered total deterioration of civility. On several occasions Buffy had offered to leave, but neither of them would hear of it, voicing their concerns about Wolfram & Hart and what they would do when they found her if she was unprotected (which usually caused her to huff and tell them that she could take care of herself).

This was not, however, some sort of love triangle. Angel was cordial to her, but nothing more. Sometimes, though; – when he thought she wasn't looking – the way he looked at her!

Buffy didn't feel as though the vampire was vying for her affections, more he was trying to find someone who wasn't there. Some of the things he said to her made very little sense, and he would stare at her expectantly, waiting for her to understand or respond accordingly. She never did. Although she didn't yet trust the vampire, it was clear that he was telling the truth when he said they had had something serious. Even with her resistance, she felt a physical connection every time he was near which, as far as she could tell, threw them both.

The most confusing thing though, was that Buffy knew that if she hadn't been told of every evil thing he'd ever done, she would have liked him. He was a good fighter, and for that she admired him.

Sometimes she wondered if her forgotten life had always been this complicated. Probably not.

*

_"The deal's off, Lilah. Your Slayer's been gone for a week. If she isn't dead, she's with them."_

Lilah gripped the phone as if it were the neck of the person on the other end of the line. "The Slayer is killing four people and an extremely cocky ensouled vampire. You think she'd get that done in a day and be home for dinner? Not even_ you're_ that stupid. Or," she audibly thumbed through a file on her desk, "If your most recent, ahem, business endeavour is correct; maybe you are," she said wryly and hung up the phone. If there was one thing Lilah loved, it was winning. She didn't know yet how badly she had lost.

*

It was an unusually harsh night outside as Buffy extracted herself carefully from Gunn's arms and gathered up some small and easy to carry – and hide – weapons.

She had debated about it for the last seven days, but there was no way that she could let Lilah get away with whatever she had done. Some part of her quietly hoped that Lilah was the one telling the truth as she felt incredible pain at the thought of being deceived by the person who had taken care of her for so long.

Slinking down the stairs, Buffy was intercepted by a dark figure. "You know, I like how you're trying to break away from that dark, brooding, creature of the night stereotype," she bit sarcastically, "Because it's really working."

Angel kept his face devoid of any emotion and got straight to the point. "You can't beat them."

Buffy feigned ignorance and tried to swoop past him, "I have no idea what you're talking about, just wanted to patrol."

Angel rounded on her and used his height advantage to emphasise his point, "There's no point taking them on. You may not remember it, but I do know you, and you're thinking about going to Lilah."

Buffy, fed up by the intrusion, held a strong frame and glared determinedly at him, "Yeah, well, that's my business. What is it for you now anyway, lunchtime?"

Determined to show no weakness, Angel ignored her snide comment. "If you're going after her I'm coming with you."

Sighing, Buffy relented. "Fine, but if the pointy end of my stake accidentally makes friends with your heart, it's your own fault."

Angel took a step back and allowed her to lead the way to Lilah's.

Buffy refused Angels' offers to carry some of her weapons, stubborn that she should bear most of the weight.

"You're a stubborn as ever," he stated quietly.

Receiving no reply, Angel faded into the shadows and was all but forgotten until the two reached the apartment.

"How are you going to get in?" he asked her, readying his fist to break the glass pane in the door.

The left corner of her mouth quirking upwards, she held a small shiny object into the light, which turned out to be a key to the apartment that Lilah had given her earlier. Both astutely aware of their surroundings, the two felt unspoken satisfaction at the little click the key made when it turned in the hole and they were granted access inside.

"You stay here," she commanded, "Go save a damsel or something while you're waiting."

Angel stood his ground, "You can't do it alone."

Her eyes narrowed and Buffy raised herself up to his level. "I don't need your help."

"We'll see."

She was so close to hitting him. Exercising a rare level of restraint, she threw her hands up in surrender and said, "Fine, but you wait outside when I talk to her."

"I have to be invited in, anyway."

"Have I ever told you that I _love_ that rule?"

She had almost forgotten that he was a vampire. Scolding herself, Buffy spun on her heel and headed up the stairs, not bothering to check if he had followed – which he had.

Hammering her fist on the door, Buffy indicated for Angel to move out of sight as she prepared for the confrontation with the first person in L.A. to befriend her.

*

Angel positioned himself out of sight whilst Buffy banged loudly on the expensive wooden door – five more seconds and he was certain her fist would have smashed right through it.

Wishing that he could see Lilah, Angel observed Buffy's face as a number of emotions flickered across it, finally settling on an accusatory stare.

"Come in, we'll talk inside," Lilah said in response to Buffy's harsh look.

After hearing the door slam shut, Angel drew closer to listen to the progression of the conversation.

"So, you're home," Lilah asked lightly. Angel clenched his fist hearing Lilah call that lifeless apartment Buffy's home.

With no reply and – Angel assumed – more accusatory looks, Lilah pressed on; "Is it done? Are they dead?"

"Uh-uh," Buffy fumed, "You don't get to ask the questions. It's_ my_ turn now."

Something scraped, probably chairs being pulled back, and Lilah spoke again – her voice possessing the slightest threatening edge that he didn't doubt Buffy had heard too. "Fine, ask away."

Angel could practically see Buffy folding her arms and pouting stubbornly. "They told me you're lying. I know Wolfram & Hart are evil."

"Well," Lilah said, quicikly transitioning into her business voice, "That's really subjective, isn't it?"

Her breathing spiked and Angel knew Buffy was truly beginning to accept what Lilah was. "_Why. Did you. Lie?"_

Lilah laughed, "You really_ are_ fifteen. A vampire in love with a Slayer? Do you think he would fight back if you tried to kill him? Do you think that the soulful goody-two-shoes_ could?"_

"You said he was evil. He kills innocents."

"Guess what, princess?" Lilah dropped her voice to a mocking whisper, "_I lied._"

_Wham!_ Angel recoiled at the conundrum of a series of impacts.

Angel could hear Lilah's failed attempts at calm; trying to level her breathing and slow her heart. He could also hear Buffy's panting. She wasn't one easily tired, so Angel could only assume that she felt guilty about harming her – though why, he couldn't imagine. Yes, he figured, that was what it was.

That was when he heard the gun cock.

*

Buffy ignored the smashing behind her and swiftly kicked the gun out of Lilah's grasp. A rogue gunshot fired into the wall and she sincerely hoped that no one was hurt.

"_Buffy!"_ Angel's panicked voice sounded urgently behind her.

"What?" she replied, not taking her eyes off of the cornered woman before her. "I'm kinda busy right now; I'm meeting with my lawyer," she said wryly.

Lilah shakily pulled herself to a stand and, though obviously fearful, squared her shoulders and held her head high.

Turning for a moment, Buffy gingerly grasped the gun that had been cast to the side by her powerful kick. With the pistol in hand, she kept her back to Lilah and examined Angel's panicked face. He wasn't allowed in, but that hadn't stopped him from smashing the door into pieces. She wondered idly why she hadn't registered the tumultuous noise.

"Get out of there Buffy," he told her urgently.

"Angel, would you like to come in?" she asked, hoping that her habitation there was enough to warrant entry.

"He can't," Lilah said smugly, "It's a little Wolfram & Hart extra. You think I wasn't prepared for this? Only_ I_ can invite him in."

The corner of Buffy's lip curved into a triumphant smile and she slowly, but surely, spun to face Lilah once again.

"Lilah," she said sweetly, "I think it's fairly rude that you haven't invited my friend in."

Lilah scoffed and shook her head, "You're going to have to do better than insulting my people skills, Buffy."

The two looked at each other with predatory smiles on both of their faces. "Well, if you in_sist_," Buffy replied, her voice sweetening still.

Lilah stared in anticipation before Buffy finally lifted the pistol, "Lilah," she said, cocking it, "I think that you should invite my friend in."

The lawyer maintained her cool demeanour; this wasn't the first death threat she had received. Or the thirtieth.

"You can't kill me."

"No," agreed Buffy, training the gun to her knee, "But I can sure as hell make you dance. Now, I'm giving you until the count of three..." she shifted her aim from knee to knee as Lilah fidgeted uncomfortably, "... To invite Angel in."

The pressure in the room could have broken the four walls.

"One..."

"How do I know he won't just kill me?" Lilah demanded in a very businesslike voice.

Buffy chose not to reply, keeping her weapon aimed and her trigger finger ready, "Two..."

Lilah looked like she still wasn't going to invite him in. She was right; Buffy couldn't hurt her, and she wasn't going to shoot her kneecaps. She was, however, going to give her a fairly severe beating. Severe enough that Lilah would wish that she _had _shot her in the kneecaps.

"Thr -"

"Okay!" Lilah broke, raising her hands in frustration and surrender. After a minute of contemplation she finally relented, "Angel, come in."

Angel crossed the threshold and looked around for a moment, "Gee Lilah, this is a nice place you got here. The rest of the vermin in L.A. city isn't doing this well."

Lilah smirked disinterestedly, "I know. But I guess when you're used to crypts and broken down hotels anything will look good."

Angel raked his eyes over her pointedly, "No, _not_ everything."

Lilah placed her hands on her hips and feigned boredom, "So are we going to exchange witty banter all night, or are you two going to tell me what you're doing here?"

"Well I'll be honest," Buffy said in a falsely chipper voice, "I did come here to beat the life out of you for lying to me, but now I'm just not sure.

"So," she continued, walking over to a counter and picking up an apple which she threw between her hands nonchalantly, "I'm thinking answers."

"No," Lilah replied, "I think the beating sounds better."

Throwing the apple behind her haphazardly, Buffy proceeded towards the lawyer. "Fine, if that's what you'd li-"

Her threat was cut off, however, by a cry from behind her. At least nine demons of different species crashed through the door and began their assault on the Slayer and the vampire.

"You were_ stalling!_" Buffy exclaimed angrily at the lawyer, who had in fact vanished.

"Lawyers," Angel murmured.

The two easily took down five of the (comparatively) smaller demons each, feeling the battle really heat up when faced with four large and agitated demons.

Buffy ducked her head and rammed her fist into the spot where a human would have their solar plexus. The region caved inwards and the demon stumbled backwards, roaring in pain. She grabbed hold of the demon and slammed it into another behind it, taking two at once.

Angel was fighting the other two, and quite well. He gracefully avoided their punches and substituted them with some of his own. She was hesitant to join the fray, unsure of whether vampires were protective of their kills or not, but when a demon sent him solidly to the ground all thoughts of etiquette were forgotten and the Slayer propelled her foot into the demons' face.

It was lucky that vampires had a quick recovery time, or this girl would be in trouble. Angel soon resumed his part of the fight and head-butted his demon, sending it into spinning into unconsciousness. Buffy promptly followed suit, jumping and head-butting her final opponent.

With all of their foes either dead or unconscious, the two shared a similar thought.

"OW!" Buffy yelled, clutching her temples. "Why the hell did you make me do that?"

"Make you do that?" Angel replied testily, rubbing his forehead, "I didn't_ make _you do anything!"

"We don't _all _have big, accommodating foreheads like yours. You shouldn't go around demonstrating that and making it look easy!"

Angel stared down at her and looked wounded. "It's not big, my hairline is just... Slightly further back than yours, it looks –"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Buffy said dismissively, squeezing her eyes shut and massaging her temples.

"Marilyn Monroe said it was charming..." Angel muttered bitterly under his breath.

"Marilyn Monroe? Oh, _come, on_, there's absolutely no way -" she interjected; only to be knocked forward by a demon that had staggered to its feet and knocked her from behind. Buffy fell flat on her stomach, out cold.

Angel jumped back into action and grabbed a metal cane by the door, attempting to shove it through – what looked like – the demons' torso. After four tries the demon swerved to the left side at the wrong time and was impaled by the cane with a satisfying _crunch_.

Angel burst forward, lifting Buffy into his arms and definitely_ not_ thinking about her warm body or equally warm, familiar scent. And definitely not thinking about the fact that she still coincidentally smelled of the same shampoo she used to use, and how her beautiful blonde hair fell delicately and entwined itself in his fingers, brushing against them in an almost therapeutic way, and definitely not thinking about her steady heart beat and how he used to stay awake for hours just soothing himself with it. And_ definitely_ not watching her lips move ever so slightly in her sleep, causing him to think about how he used to lay a light kiss on them to wake her up back in Sunnydale.

No, definitely not. Not at all.

*

The Slayer stirred, unconscious only for a few minutes. Angel was halfway home when she awoke and sprung athletically from his arms, planting her feet firmly on the ground and facing him down. Angel stopped walking and waited expectantly for her to speak.

"You were carrying me," she accused.

"What, did you want me to drag you? Leave you alone with the demon that knocked you out in the first place?" he rebutted, his eyes shining menacingly and his temper flaring.

"No, but you didn't have to..." she trailed off, still seething.

Instinctively moving closer to tower over her, he said, "Have to what? Carry you back when you were injured?"

Buffy was surprised by his infuriation – even if she knew that she both caused and deserved it.

"Listen vampire," she said bluntly, "I don't like you, I don't trust you and if I got the chance I'd probably kick your ass again. But," her features softened, "You did help me fight. So, I guess I'm stuck with you. I don't know what we had," she continued, "But I don't want it. We're _not_ friends."

Angel's mind flashed back to Spike's words on his disastrous trip to Sunnydale during Angels' third year.

_"You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love 'til it kills you both."_

The words rang out in his head, now meaningless. There was no rhyme or reason for their separation, just pure disdain for the monster that he always insisted to her that was.

The irony was_ definitely_ not lost on him.

*

Her head hurt. She had repeated it a million times, and it hadn't stopped hurting. Not that she had expected it to, but usually there was some modicum of satisfaction gained from expressing oneself. As she walked back to the Hyperion with the ensouled vampire silent at her side, Buffy couldn't have felt any tenser.

The Slayer found that with a two hundred and forty-something year old vampire, conversational preamble was somewhat scarce.

Fidgeting with her hands, Buffy eased her head slowly towards Angel. "Uh," she started. The vampire straightened his gaze forward and furrowed his brow – he showed no signs of participating in her pathetic attempt at small talk. "So, you and Lilah know each other? I mean, I'm assuming that you're not friendly, what with her - what with the... trying to kill you, and all..." she laughed uneasily and awaited a reply. When nothing of the like was given, she dropped any pleasant pretence and prayed that the Hyperion was nearing, contenting herself by tuning into the constant tempo of her footsteps.

_Thump. Thump. Thump_. The two walked in sync and trudged home bruised, bloodied and beaten; the first rays sun still far from emerging.

After a pregnant pause, Angel said; "Yes, we know each other."

Buffy, who, deep in thought, had completely forgotten about her questions, asked vaguely, "What?"

"Lilah and I. We know each other. I fight evil, she works for it. It's not a good base for a deep and meaningful bond."

"A lawyer and a vampire: which one is the truer evil?" Buffy mused to herself quietly, with some amusement.

Angel was too busy brooding to be at all entertained by the Slayer's jibes. "In this case, I'd go for the lawyer."

Out of nowhere, Buffy reached out and grabbed Angel's arm. This was the first time she had voluntarily touched him without intending any harm. She pulled him to a halting stop a block away from the Hyperion and just studied his features.

"What are you doing?" he asked her quietly, praying that her fists would remain still at her sides.

Buffy twisted her features into some of child-like curiosity. "I'm trying to figure this out. If you meant as much to me as you say, I should remember you," she squinted, scrutinising everything about him, "Maybe I just need to look closer."

Buffy unthinkingly drew nearer to Angel, her eyes still roaming around his face.

Angel had never been impulsive – as an ensouled vampire, anyway. He was thoughtful and considerate; he didn't do anything without weighing the consequences of his actions. In this instance, however, his most faithful trait failed him. Closing the small distance between their faces, the vampire leaned in and brought his lips to hers.

Okay, Buffy hadn't been expecting this. She knew she should pull away. She was with Gunn, Gunn made her happy. This vampire didn't. She should be pummelling him for this.

Only... When she kissed these lips, it felt like they were the cold, dead lips that she had been predestined to kiss; their lips moved against each other's with a passion that she didn't even know she had.

Just that second, something jolted through the Slayer.

Angel felt her jerk, and pulled away. Absent of breath he didn't have in the first place, he receded ruefully and mirrored the happiness he saw in her eyes.

"I'm sorry... I don't know why I..." he began, stopping when he caught a gleam of something in her eye that made him freeze. "Do you remember me?"

Buffy drew in a breath, sighing quietly. Angel noticed that her face was still only inches from his, and her lips puckered slightly as her eyes fluttered closed and then open again. Drawing back, Buffy stared deeply into his eyes and brought a hand to the side of his face.

"No."

* * *

Alright, there you go. I know that his decision not to call Sunnydale straight away is a bit questionable, but I think Angel's reasoning was fairly valid. He doesn't want Buffy's other friends to go through the same pain he is, not having her remember them so he wants to keep her there and try to bring her memory back himelf, plus he needs her help getting to Lilah. Even if you don't really agree you'll just have to suspend your disbelief and go with me on that one. It won't be long, anyway – don't worry.  
I know that all of my fellow Buffy/Angel shippers are resisting their desires to wring my throat for the way I've ended this chapter, but frankly, I wanted them to kiss, and as much as we wish it she isn't going to remember just because of it. Unfortunately. I promise you that things start to really pick up in the next few chapters, though.  
Thanks for reading! Reviews are very welcome. More reviews mean more happiness. :D


	13. Aftershock

Hey everyone! Thanks for the comments, reviews, alerts and favourites; colour me pathetically happy. I wasn't sure what reactions I would get about Buffy not remembering Angel and him not calling the Scoobies straight away, but I'm really glad that everyone got where I was coming from. I'm not giving anything away, but it won't be too long before other introductions are called for. I know I said I wouldn't post for a while, but all the positive reviews made me so happy that I decided to sit down and get another lengthy chapter written. Hope you like.  
As always, read and enjoy!

* * *

It was an overcast afternoon in L.A. – the type Angel hated the most; overcast, but not enough that he could go outside.

Wesley made his way down the stairs into the basement to see if Angel was still brutally punishing his punching bag. For the third hour straight, he was.

"Angel," he interrupted, leaning against the stairway post, "Don't you think it's time you granted the punching bag some reprieve?"

Angel responded with an irritated grunt and a punch that caused said punching bag to collide with the ceiling.

"Are you going to talk about what's wrong," Wesley asked with a sharp English inflection, "Or do I have to go and get Buffy?"

With considerable umbrage, Angel lowered his fists and said; "Fine. I'll stop punching the bag."

"Angel you've been down here for three days. The only things you've come upstairs for are business and training. Don't you think it's time you tried talking about it?"

"She doesn't remember," he muttered agitatedly, walking past Wesley and picking up a towel to wipe his sweat with.

"We know that. We're doing all we can to help her, but with your insistence that we don't call Willow makes things difficult," Wesley began with some resentment.

"We can't call her. Not with Buffy like this. Once I'm sure that we've exhausted every single option to help her that _we've_ got, then we call Willow."

"It's not fair to her. Angel, she can help –"

"Wesley, she doesn't remember them. She doesn't want to leave L.A. She doesn't want to leave Gunn," he added bitterly. "Forcing her to leave would only upset her, and she's still the Slayer – we couldn't make her leave. When I know we've exhausted _every avenue _of research _that. We've. Got._ Then we call Willow."

Understanding dawned upon Wesley. "This is about Gunn and Buffy."

Angel collapsed onto a small wooden chair in the corner of the basement and refused to confirm the statement. He wiped the sweat off his face and kept his eyes austerely trained on his feet.

"The day that you and Buffy came back from Lilah's apartment," Wesley pieced it together. He wondered why he hadn't figured it out before – it was childishly simple; maybe that was why. "Did something happen?"

"She doesn't remember," Angel repeated ominously.

Wesley drew closer, his fingers itching to get upstairs begin researching his books. "Has her short term memory been impaired? Was she injured?"

Angel just shook his head, covering it with the towel and wiping off sweat as an excuse to end the conversation. Wesley was not so easily deterred.

"Angel, did something happen between you and Buffy?"

"Don't you have something to do with Fred? Where is she?"

"She left to visit her parents two days ago, which I told you seven times. She came down and said goodbye."

Water dripped from an unknown place and the basement remained silent, neither man knowing what to say and the deader of the two eager to end the conversation.

"What happened, Angel?" Wesley asked accusingly, standing nearer to tower over his sitting friend. His testosterone reflexively responding, Angel stood and faced Wesley down.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. She doesn't remember," he hissed venomously, shoving Wesley aside on his way up the stairs.

"Did you kiss her?" Wesley called up the stairs to Angel.

From the way Angel jolted his head back towards him in shock, Wesley surmised that he had hit the mark.

"You kissed her," he stated.

Angel resignedly walked back down the stairs, nodding.

Now he was just shooting in the dark. "And she doesn't remember it?"

Angel shook his head. "I kissed her, and something went through her, and I thought she..."

"You thought she remembered you."

"Yeah," Angel replied hoarsely, casting his eyes downward. "But she didn't."

"And, let me guess, you think that it's because you weren't important enough?" Wesley sighed at the silent affirmation he received. "Angel, you of all people should know that life isn't a fairytale. The Prince doesn't kiss the Princess and then they live happily ever after. She's lost her memory. She doesn't remember you. That doesn't mean you didn't mean something to her."

Upholding his usual laconic standard, Angel headed towards the punching bag again.

"What did she do after you kissed her?"

_Punch_. "She,"_ punch,_ "Said," _punch_, "She,"_ punch,_ "Was sorry,"_ punch,_ "That she didn't,"_ punch_, "Remember."

"And you decided to emulate a perfectly good stereotype and move into this dungeon?"

"Leave me alone, Wes. I can't win. I leave her for her own good, I make a life, I move on, and now she's back! With no memory! All. The. Time! Looking like she does! All. The. Time! _Not remembering me. _All. The. Time. I can't do it. I can't have her here. It's too hard. At least in Sunnydale we were both in the same boat. Here I'm just her forgotten ex that can't let go."

"Not to change the subject," replied Wesley, ever so coolly, "But how did things go with Lilah?"

"She got away. Set a few demons on us. Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Is she still at large?"

"Yeah."

"Have you ever thought," he suggested, "That it's time we launched an attack?"

Angel looked incredulous but not unwilling. "You mean...?"

Wesley nodded, "On Lilah. On her office. On the Los Angeles Department of Wolfram & Hart."

The two acquiesced silently; a woman's determined voice then booming down the stairs. "I'm in," Buffy said. "How are we going to do this?" she asked as she stomped down to them.

Angel switched from stoic to overprotective in two seconds flat. "No. You're not going to be a part of this."

Buffy glared defiantly. "Why not?"

"You don't even know who you are," he replied harshly. The Slayer arched her back and raised herself up, proceeding to punch him in the arm. Angel cringed.

"I know I can do _that_, and I know you flinched."

"That doesn't mean you're ready to take on Lilah. Are you telling me that if she raised a gun to you that you wouldn't hesitate to kill her?"

He had her there. "I wouldn't... We don't need to _kill_... She probably..." After careful deliberation, she settled with; "I'd better go get Gunn and Cordelia." Turning to Wesley, she asked, "Fred still not back?"

He shook his head and she headed up the stairs.

Now it was Wesley's turn to scold. "You've got to let her fight, Angel. This is just as much her fight as it is yours."

*

_Back In Sunnydale.  
__Office of Emily Young, PhD._

The psychiatrist sat in her cramped little office, wishing that the walls were a different colour or that there were more flowers on her desk. In that moment she longed for something to liven the place up. It wasn't the kind of environment that screamed _'emotional healing available here'_. Not that she knew what colour walls would portray it aptly, anyway.

Pushing down the button on her old fashioned office telephone, the woman waited for her secretary's reply.

_"What were you after, Miss Young?"_ the stereotypically chipper voice of her secretary asked her.

Bringing a coffee mug to her lips and savouring the comfortingly familiar taste of coffee beans, Emily asked; "Sylvia, who's next?"

_"Uh,"_ she could hear Sylvia frantically scattering all of her sheets to find the right one. _"Dawn Summers. Referred by her principal."_

"Why?"

_"Violence, reclusive behaviour. I've emailed you the file. It should be there. Was there anything else you needed?"_

"No," Emily shook her head, knowing that her secretary couldn't see it. Idiosyncrasies such as nodding or shaking her head to accompany her answer to every question were too deeply embedded into her to change. "No, that will be all. Is she there?"

_"Yes." _

"Send her in."

Emily patiently listened to the gentle murmurs and scuffling of her secretary offering beverages and snacks to her newest client – finally the girl walked through the door, an uncertain and sombre expression painted upon her face.

Emily knew instantly that this tall, brown-haired girl had not agreed to be where she was. Her body language was resentful and hostile, a thin layer of socially-appropriate hesitance on display awkwardly.

Realising that her patient wasn't going to instigate any conversation, Emily rose and – ignoring the jolt backwards the simple movement caused in the girl – gestured for the gangly teenager to sit.

"Dawn Summers, I take it?" the teen nodded.

"You know why you're here, Dawn?" Emily said; half stating, half questioning. When Dawn simply nodded, the psychiatrist pressed on. "I've got your file here," she began, clicking the newly received file on her computer and turning the monitor to face Dawn. "But I don't think I need to read you back your own life. I know that your mother died, and I know that you now have your sister Buffy and two women of the same age living in your house. I know that your grades and behaviour have gotten progressively worse, and I know that – from your previous records – you're a reasonably intelligent girl. I also know that you hit a girl. What I don't know is why, after a year, this behaviour is still worsening in a household that was deemed to be nurturing. Dawn," Emily crossed her legs as the blank-faced teen remained silent, "I'm not going to judge you here. My job is to help you deal with whatever is so hard, and help you to move on. But to do that you have to open up to me," she looked Dawn straight in the eye and adjusted her gaze into what her mother had taught her was a gentle, trusting one, "Can you do that?"

Dawn hesitantly looked at the psychiatrist, her teeth grinding together. Emily knew that look; there was something bad going on for this one. Finally she spoke in a tone that was much too hardened and grief-stricken for even her experiences, "I'm here because my principal said that my choices were you or the school councillor. I don't want your help, and I don't want your sympathy."

"Well," Emily replied with a polite smile, "We've still got fifty minutes."

Dawn shifted awkwardly in light of that fact and looked like she was rueing her outburst.

"Okay then, maybe we should start with something simple : why did you punch," she glanced sideways at the monitor with Dawn's record, "Kelly?"

Dawn shrugged and kept her gaze trained on the bookcase to Emily's left. "Why not?"

"Because you have no history of violence against anyone."

"Maybe that's why history is history. Things change."

"I'm required to write your given statement and submit it to your principal, at her request. Since Kelly has agreed not to press charges, the police won't be involved. Unless you refuse to give me a statement."

Dawn angrily muttered, "She insulted my sister. I punched her in the face."

"What did she say about your sister?" Emily enquired further, noting deep-set rage in Dawn's expression.

"She said that she was stupid for choosing to raise me instead of 'having a life'," Emily heard the quotation marks in Dawn's voice, "and that if she were Buffy she would have shipped me off the foster care straight away."

Emily looked at her incredulously, "She said this to your face?"

"No, I was in a toilet cubicle. I heard her saying it."

"And then you..."

"Walked out of the cubicle and hit her."

"That's quite a reaction," said Emily thoughtfully, "Most girls would have chosen a verbal attack, rather than physical."

Dawn snorted, "A verbal attack wouldn't have her nose plastered right now."

"Are you always so protective of your sister?" Emily asked, pouring a glass of water, "Water?"

"No, I'm good," Dawn assured her, making sure to keep her voice the epitome of distance.

Emily sipped from her glass, sadly eyeing her empty coffee mug, "And my other question?"

"Am I always so protective of Buffy?"

"Yes."

A shadow briefly danced in Dawn's eyes as she sat silently and Emily cleared her throat to draw her back to the present question. Dawn shot her a pointed _I-was-just-thinking _look and said; "Well, she can't protect herself," Emily not realising the rich ambiguity of these words.

"And how does that make you feel?" Emily asked.

Dawn glowered at her and folded her arms. With a slight smile, Emily said; "Sorry. Therapists' humour."

Emily attempted to find out what little about Dawn she could, the teenage refusing to divulge anything of consequence. The next forty minutes were spent with the same open questions and stiff answers, before the timer rang out and Dawn was permitted to leave.

"You're obligated to meet with me once a week for the next four weeks," Emily told Dawn as she headed out the door. Dawn nodded and sprinted from the building as fast as she could.

Sylvia finished what was most likely not a business-related call and attended to her boss. "More coffee, Em?" she asked as Emily walked tiredly through the door back into her office – masochistic middle-aged men she could help, but teenagers really took it out of her. Turning to give Sylvia an easy grin, Emily replied; "Yes_, please."_

*

Dawn walked home from her therapy session in a huff. _She _needed a shrink? What about the boy in the year below her who, just last week, tried to set the boys toilets on fire. When he was still in them! People like _that _needed therapy. _Not _normal people who were just sticking up for their dead-and-replaced-by-a-robot sisters. So unfair.

Dawn stomped home – her feet all the while tapping steadily to the beat of _'not. Fair.' _Willow raced downstairs in response to her tumultuous slamming of the front door.

"Bad therapy session, Dawnie?"

Dawn gave Willow the same look she had her therapist, "It was horrible. Can't you just wipe their memories like in the second Harry Potter book so I don't have to go – except without you losing your memory?"

Willow frowned sternly. "This is your punishment for hitting that girl. You've got to take it."

"Like you _took_ all your college exams?" Dawn snorted.

Willow quickly shifted from stern to aggravated. "That's different."

"What?" Dawn asked accusingly, "Because you can _do _the magic, and I have to ask for help? You get to go through your life doing whatever you want while I'm stuck here without Buffy or Mom following your double standards?! How is that even fair?!" she screeched, dramatically blowing into her room and slamming her door shut with even more force than that which the front door was exposed to.

Willow walked into the living room numbly and sat delicately onto the couch, forbidding her tears to surface. All she could think was how had things gotten so wrong?

She knew exactly how; it involved a portal, a Hell God, a teenage mystical ball of energy and a Slayer. The problem was clear. The solution, unfortunately, wasn't.

*

Playing her side to score points. Cheater.

Thoughts of this nature crossed Angel's mind later that night as he, Buffy, Cordy, Wesley and Gunn bickered in the lobby about whether or not a group attack on Lilah was advisable and, more importantly, achievable.

"I can handle myself. They already know me, and they haven't killed me yet," Angel argued, ignoring the incessant flickering of the hotel lights that had been doing so all night.

Buffy crossed her arms and moved herself to stand near the front desk, "I can handle myself too." Gunn stood tall behind her, as if his height emphasised her point.

Angel snorted and tried to hide his child-like jealousy. "You're too far in this."

"So don't you think it's a bit late for me to try and get out? I mean, I'm pretty much in the thick of this. It seems a little late to say 'hey, sorry, I can't save your life, I'm using my long vacation leave to go to Acapulco!'"

"Hey," Cordy interjected, "What about the rest of us? I mean, Little Miss I-Can't-Walk-Down-Memory-Lane still has her strength. What about the rest of us? I want to attack them as much as the next person, but I don't think I can _see _them to death."

"Cordelia has a fair point, we can't just rush head on into this," Wesley agreed calmly, seeming to Angel like he was a self-appointed referee of the heated debate.

Buffy sighed exasperatedly and threw her hands up into the air – something Angel remembered seeing back in Sunnydale more times than he could count. "I'm not saying we rush _head on into this!_ I'm just saying that when we do the rushing I'll be a... Rusher. Something that Angel seems to disagree with," she added, glowering at him. Angel tried to dispel all recent circumstances with Buffy from his mind and continue his argument without turning into a babbling idiot – something that he had_ never_ had to worry about before.

"Okay Buffy," Angel replied, attempting to be calm like Wesley, "Tell me your plan."

Taking all of a second to formulate her battle plan, Buffy began. "Okay, well, Fred, could you hack into the security systems? I was going to try and get in by myself since I've been there with Lilah," Gunn made a gagging noise and Buffy shot him a good-humoured glare. "But –"

"They'd know you," Angel finished for her.

Nodding, she continued. "But if Fred could hack into the security systems with Wesley – I've been reading up on them," the thought of Buffy 'reading up' on anything almost brought a smile to Angel's face. "And they seem to be a hybrid of the latest technological marvels and some pretty deep magic. Not," she smiled sheepishly, "That I could read the blueprints very well. Do you think you could do it Fred, Wes? Disable it?"

Fred looked enthused by the challenge and Wesley more hesitant. "I'll try," he assured her, "But I'm not the most magically adept. I could always call Wil –" Angel, alarmed by Wesley's slip up, coughed loudly to drown out the next words, "Warlock. A warlock," Wesley corrected sourly, no one noticing the slip. "They can be quite stubborn, but with the right... Incentive," Angel saw Wesley finger his wallet indicatively and responsively reached for his own as recompense, "They should provide us with the help we're looking for."

"Okay," Buffy nodded in blind agreement, "And Fred, you don't need any... Warlocks?" When Fred shook her head, Buffy spoke again. "If you two could blind the security system, Gunn, Angel, Cordelia," she looked towards Cordelia questioningly, her eyebrow arched in a challenging _'you up for it?'_

Cordy shrugged in agreement, "I always figured I'd die surrounded by evil and exceptionally well-paid people. I just assumed it would be Hollywood, not dial-a-demon r' us."

"Close enough," Gunn grinned, still holding his position behind Buffy, "What about me?" he asked her. Angel was inwardly glad that she hadn't told him the plan before everyone else. Okay, before him. When did he get so petty?

"You, Angel, Cordy and I are the muscle. Angel taught you to fight, right Cordelia?" Cordy nodded, "Good. Well, Fred and Wes will be stationed around the corner in Angels' car –" Buffy met his gaze and became sidetracked, her expression lightening. Angel hated that every time this happened his (unnecessary) breathing stopped and he hoped her memory had returned. Good thing it didn't happen often. "By the way, why doesn't your car have a roof? I mean, you're a vampire. Convertibles and L.A. don't scream 'self preservation'."

Angel, thrown by the quick subject change, had no real response. When the Slayer was unsated by his first reaction; furrowed brow and darkened eyes, he was forced to provide her with an answer which he was unable to give. Why_ did_ he own a convertible?

Showing true childishness for someone older than all of other the people in the room combined, Angel shrugged embarrassedly and murmured, "...I liked the colour."

"Angel, your convertible is black," Cordy pointed out. "Just like a billion other _roofed_ cars."

Angel could see Buffy was trying to resume her previously sombre demeanour. Everyone in the room could see that she was clearly failing. After several excruciatingly humiliating minutes for Angel, she managed to regain a modicum of composure.

"I need you to be with me on this," she said to Angel, "Because this isn't my team. I don't even know if I had a team. But this isn't them. This is your call, but you _know_ that if you're not with me I'm going to go in there and take as many of them down as I can."

Angel nodded, agreeing only to the last part. "Buffy, you don't understand. These aren't the demons you've been fighting for what – two months that you remember? This is a multi-_dimensional_ law firm. If we take down fifty of them, five hundred will spring up to take their place. This isn't 'kick and destroy', this is subtle. This is war. We need to be cautious."

"Then why are we standing here arguing about it?" Gunn wanted to know. "I need a good work-out. Let's make with the planning and get to the punching."

Angel brought his famed gaze full-force to Buffy's. "I'm still not sure about this."

"Then get sure," she told him in an authoritative tone that much more closely resembled her old one.

"What if we hit them where it hurts the most?" Gunn suggested, causing everyone looked at him in confusion. "I mean, they're a law firm right? What's a law firm without -"

"Clients," Wesley finished, as he and Gunn exchanged smug glances.

"I know their clientele!" Buffy exclaimed with apparent satisfaction. "Lilah filled me in on them. I'm pretty sure I've got a list of their best and bloodiest in my jeans."

Wesley looked to Angel like Christmas had come early, "Why Buffy, that's fantastic. It will certainly save me a _lot_ of research."

"Huh," Cordy said offhandedly, "Deprived of his bed time story, and yet we see no tears."

Already preoccupied with the sorting and arranging of his many musty books, Wesley ignored the last comment.

"So, what do should we do now? If we need some more files from inside Wolfram & Hart I can work on cracking their security code," Fred suggested. "The electrical part of it, anyway," she added.

"No," Angel replied, "I think tonight we should just run business as usual."

"Damn, I was hoping to stay out of mortal peril tonight," Gunn said drily, curving his arm – which suddenly looked much more breakable to Angel – around Buffy's waist.

"I'm gonna go out on patrol, my Slayer sense is tingling," Buffy said casually to whomever was listening as she proceeded out the door, Angel having to stop himself from automatically following her. _Old habits die hard,_ he thought sadly.

Gunn stepped forward as Angel did. "'Kay, want me to join?"

"No, I'll be good. I plan on using several very unladylike words that I'm not sure your delicate ears could handle," she responded teasingly.

"Okay, I'll see you later."

Smiling good-naturedly, Gunn shrugged and, grabbing his sword, walked in the opposite direction. Angel wondered if her rejection at his offer bothered Gunn as much as it would have Angel, in the same situation.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Notice how I managed to end this chapter without a cliff hanger? I was amazed with myself.  
I'll try to update as soon as possible. If you liked, please review? :D


	14. What's At Stake

Okay, here you go. This is a pretty thought-orientated chapter, as I thought it was time I tuned in on Buffy's ever-changing point of view in this whole thing, and I think it says what she needed to. Thank you everyone for your comments, reviews, alerts, favourites etc. It's slightly disconcerting how happy they make me.  
As always, read and enjoy!

* * *

Buffy skulked through the dark, eerie alleys, the aesthetic epitome of vulnerability to anyone who missed the stake stored faithfully in her belt. Spotting a lone vampire, she reverted to her 'helpless blonde' act; whistling innocently, twirling her hair and tapping her feet merrily. Overkill? Yes. Effective? Definitely. As sure as anything, the vampire began to track her very subtly – or so he thought – as she lured him in closer.

The vampire, she discovered as he drew within her periphery, was actually quite attractive. A tall man of twenty-five or so with broad shoulders and neutral brown hair, Buffy wondered how many vampires it had taken to overcome and turn this one, who looked like he could have outrun just about anyone.

"Miss?" the attractive undead man said timidly, "Would you happen to know where I could find the pharmacy?" he continued, ever so politely.

"I don't think there are enough pep pills in the _world_ to liven _you_ up," she remarked, spinning towards him and placing her hand on her stake readily. Also, wondering why he had asked for a pharmacy. Couldn't he have asked for somewhere a little more normal? Why would he be out looking for a pharmacy in the middle of the night?

"Oh really?" he replied sarcastically, still maintaining his cool. This was better acting than she'd seen from a lot of actors. And soap opera stars. '_Not the point,'_ she thought amusedly, filing that joke away in her 'laugh at later' pile.

"And, ew," she went on, her fingers itching for her weapon, "Not enough breath mints, either."

The vampire, obviously one the touchy ones, reacted to this and dropped his tall-and-handsome facade. Buffy wished other vampires she knew would be so polite, but quickly forgot the thought in the face of battle.

"You know, I really with that you guys would just stop following me," she started, waiting for his attack as he gravitated towards her in a mislead attempt at intimidation, "I mean, I've got enough problems without you creatures of the night always raining on my parade–"

"Your parade's about to be shut down for good," the surprisingly witty vampire told her as he lunged for her neck.

Swiftly placing her hands under his chest, Buffy threw him over her shoulder. "Oh – a wise guy. You know, that's actually kind of refreshing. Most of you guys don't have_ any_ sense of humour–I just assumed they all died when you did."

"You have no idea what's at stake here," he growled, lunging again.

Buffy grappled with the vampire for several moments before grabbing her stake and plunging it satisfactorily into his chest. "No? Well, I think I can get to the _heart_," stake, "of it," she punned. "You know," she said begrudgingly to the pile of dust before her, "It sucks when your best material is wasted on a pile of dust."

Preparing to head back, Buffy became overwhelmed by her thoughts. She seated herself on a park bench and adamantly decided not to return until her head was clearer. Contradicting thoughts swirled in her head until she literally felt dizzy.

_"You wanted to know who you are? Well, I'm telling you. You're Buffy."_

_"She's not Buffy anymore Angel, you don't get to call the shots where she's concerned." _

_"... Do you remember me?"  
__"No_."

_"Your life isn't over yet. We'll make new memories. Me and You." _

_"Here."  
__"Why do I want eggs? Why do you _have _eggs? If there's some O negative goodness in here..."  
__"You used to like it when I made them for you."  
__"I didn't like toast? I _explicitly_ remember liking toast."  
__"You did, you just... You liked this better." _

_"Toast, Anne?" _

Wait. Why was she stressing about toast? Why did toast even matter? It didn't.

_It doesn't; toast doesn't matter, _she thought with more conviction than necessary for the subject.

_He knows you. He knows your soul._

Stop being stupid, Buffy. Of course he knows you.

_Knew you. He doesn't know the new you. Know the new you. Know the new you. Know the new you. Okay, shut up now. Note to self; say that twenty times fast. _

*

_Three Days Prior._

_"No," she said apologetically, wishing desperately for some trace of this man. She wanted to feel what he so obviously did. All consuming passion. Something she didn't have to tread around lightly for fear of being enveloped by a disorienting sense of messed up déjà vu. _

_"You're not as different as you think you are," Angel told her. Buffy was painfully aware of what he had done; put himself on the line, and for what? For rejection._

_"Oh yeah?" she challenged, her instincts automatically overriding her pity and responding to his venomous tone._

_"Yeah."_

_"You left before, right? Maybe we should just let history repeat itself," she said in a defensively snarky tone. _

_"You can insult me all you want. It doesn't change who you are. Why didn't you pull away?"_

_"What?" Buffy asked, taken aback. Literally. She took a step backwards, distancing herself from the insanity that was so clearly polluting the air around their heads. _

_Angel drew closer, but not to kiss her this time. His tone was nothing more than intrigued, but his eyes told her all she needed to know. He was hurting; he meant business. "If you're so different. Why didn't you pull away?" _

_"I did pull away. And will exhibit how to do so again," she said, rushing around him for an escape. Not quickly enough, he grabbed her arm. She didn't realise how similar this was to a fight they had had a night before a giant snake had tried to eat her at a frat party. _

_"Don't," she hissed, her voice lowered and threatening, "Do that." _

_Angel, not seeming to have meant any harm, released her straight away. "I'm sorry," he muttered, looking like he regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry, never mind." _

_She let him sink into the shadows. What else could she do?_

*

This, she realised, was going to take a lot longer than a night on a bench to figure out. Resigned, the Slayer headed back to the Hyperion. Everyone would still be awake, she hadn't been out that long, which was inconvenient because she really wasn't in a talking mood. Skulking stealthily back into the hotel, Buffy carefully avoided any noise. Unfortunately for her, the one person she was trying to avoid was the one most prone to silence.

"Buffy," Angel greeted her when she accidentally walked into his room–the Hyperion had a lot of rooms and every door was nearly identical. "Is everything okay?"

Buffy, having been reliving their confrontation after he had kissed her, felt a strong blush creep onto her cheeks. "Oh, no reason. I accidentally walked into the wrong..." she trailed off, noticing that he was shirtless. Her blush, obvious enough before, strengthened with full force, and she was sure that soon enough it would transform into full-body sunburn.

Angel, suddenly looking much more aware of his partial nudity, scrambled to be out of her shocked and unmoving gaze, pulling on the nearest shirt in record time.

"So... Was there anything...?" he questioned vaguely, probably as unsure of why she was there as she was, and maybe just as embarrassed.

"No," she replied, trying not to focus on how good the vampire smelled. Were the dead allowed to smell like that? It must have been some sort of predatory vampire mechanism. She could only have imagined what he would have smelled like when he'd been alive.

_No. No. No. _Her mind impressed the seriousness of her misguided attraction upon her. They had a _history_. He had kissed her. She had to curb her attraction.

"Sorry, I'll just go," she mumbled embarrassedly and removed herself from the room. Shaking her head to clear it, she scolded herself. "Keep it together, Buffy."

*

Gunn propped himself up on one elbow, skimming over the pages of an unfamiliar book he was disinterestedly scanning. He was really just waiting for Anne–Buffy; he should have been used to calling her that by now–to return from patrol. Surely enough, her voice floated down the hallway as her gentle footfalls grew closer.

Knocking lightly on the door–she must have gone into the wrong room again–Buffy waited for Gunn to confirm that she wasn't intruding on the wrong person. With a quick 'hey', she rushed into the bathroom to clean herself up and get ready for bed.

Slinking back into the room sheepishly, Buffy hopped into the bed and nestled into Gunns' chest, letting out a loud yawn.

"I'm tired," she mumbled, closing her eyes and resolutely blocking out her annoyingly relentless conscience.

_It's not right. _

_It's not fair._

_This can't go on. _

"Shh," she accidentally told the voices aloud.

"Mm? You say somethin'?" Gunn asked as he wrapped his arms carefully around her.

"Uh-uh, just... Thinking..." she trailed off as the bulk of her nights exhaustion hit her simultaneously.

"About what?" he said to the already sleeping girl. Turning off the light, he muttered–mostly to himself, "Never mind."

*

Buffy awoke alone in her bed, realising why when she glanced at her watch. She swore vehemently and sprung out of bed, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans as she ran in the bathroom to get ready. Buffy ran downstairs–feeling slightly unkempt after accidentally smearing lip-gloss over her left cheek in her haste and giving up on cosmetics for the day–and found Cordelia sitting comfortably at the front desk with a chicken and salad sandwich in hand.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked with a little too much annoyance.

Lowering her sandwich and giving a very snarky look, she replied; "Excuse me, I've been here a _lot_ longer than you have."

"I mean, what are you doing _here_? Aren't we lodging an attack on Wolfram & Hart's clients today?"

Cordelia sighed. "No, Gunn tried to wake you up this morning and you sleep-punched him in the face. He decided to let you sleep. We'll do it tomorrow."

"Where is he?" Buffy asked, feeling a pang of guilt about what she had to do.

"I got a vision. He, Wesley, Angel and Fred headed downtown. Nest of vamps."

"And you didn't _wake me?_"

"Hey, as Gunn's bruised cheekbone will attest," Cordy rebuked, "We _tried._"

Buffy, already overcome with a cavalcade of emotion, unwillingly added 'concerned' to the list. "Where are they?"

Cordy shrugged. "They left a few hours ago, I'd play housewife for a while and just wait until Gunn gets back, there's not much you can do."

Nodding absentmindedly, Buffy walked back up the stairs to stew and widen several already gaping holes in what she was told was her 'designated weapons training room'. Her feet pounded angrily against the different types of flooring, showing no discrimination in her punishment of each surface. Grabbing the nearest weapon in her line of sight–a simple broad-headed sword–Buffy hacked away at a wooden pole in the furthest corner from the door.

Several hacked chunks later, Buffy was pulled from her reverie by an impatient banging on the door and with an irritated 'Come in!' from Buffy Cordelia stuck her head in the door with a tranquil look plastered upon her face. "Buffy?"

Buffy had a history with three people; Angel, Wesley and Cordelia. Her past with Cordelia seemed to be the simplest of the three, as well as the least supernaturally related. From what she understood the two were simply high school rivals.

"Alright, here's how it goes; you sit down on that little mat, I stand here. You keep at least three feet away from me. I talk, you listen. I ask, you answer. Got it?" When Buffy nodded in assurance that she had, Cordelia continued. "I don't know how much you know about your life in Sunnydale, so I'll keep it simple for you: you plus Angel equals big trouble."

"...I know," Buffy replied, confused by the solemnity on Cordelia's face. "He's a Vampire, I'm the Slayer, I know that that isn't going to equate to growing old together in Sunny Florida."

"No," Cordelia sighed, annoyed by her ignorance. Didn't Angel tell her _anything?_ "How much did Angel tell you about his second year in Sunnydale?"

"Everything, I think. We dated," nowadays Buffy was able to say that with much less disgust. Probably because she knew where Sunnydale Buffy was coming from. "He turned bad–lost his soul, tried to kill me, sent him to hell. Apparently it was this whole big thing," she added sarcastically.

"Did he tell you how he lost his soul?"

Buffy now looked much more curious. "No. How?"

Cordelia sighed again, bringing her hand to her face dramatically and pinching the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. Dreading the aftermath of her decision, she muttered to herself; "He's going to _bite me_ for this."

"What?" Buffy asked, alarmed. Clearly she had only heard 'bite me'.

"Did you ever think of how Angel could have lost his soul?"

"It didn't occur to me. Receiving an epic novel labelled 'your life in fifteen minutes' doesn't make focusing on the minute details that likely."

"Oh no," Cordy said, "You don't get to do that. I _invented _sarcasm."

"Are you going to tell me how he lost his soul or not?"

"Simple: Angel brooding, Angel moping, punching, hitting," she listed off these things on her fingers, "Pummelling, stalking, skulking, lurking; these things? All fine. But, give him a moment of happiness and you've got a one way ticket to death, destruction and leather pants so tight that you_ know_ he has no circulation to cut off."

"Alright, thanks for the fashion one-oh-one, but why did he lose his soul?"

"Okay Buffy, let me paint you a picture: you and Angel have known each other for a year and a half, you've built up so much tension that by all earthly logic you should have spontaneously combusted, you've finally decided that '_your love is so true that you can't be apart_', you just turned seventeen and the two of you are together alone after a sudden decision _not _to take a six month Titanic separation."

"We..." Buffy's eyes widened and her mouth was agape. "That's what cost him his soul?"

"Well, duh."

All Buffy could say was, "... Oh."

Cordelia, lingering in the room only a minute longer, hoped in vain that Angel wouldn't be _too_ angry at her for telling Buffy too many details.

"Hey, could you tell me when everyone gets back?" Buffy asked, resuming her training.

Smiling and shaking off the Sunnydale-esque childishness that Buffy brought out in her, Cordy replied as she left the room; "Sure."

Buffy stayed in the training room for about an hour, ruminating on what Cordelia had revealed to her. She and Angel? Her first time, and she didn't even remember it? Her_ first time_ was with a_ vampire?_

... A morally sound, well-dressed, nice smelling vampire.

Buffy wasn't entirely sure when she started feeling whatever she did for Angel. Maybe it was when he had kissed her. Maybe it was sooner, maybe it was later. '_Or maybe,_' she considered_, 'I'm returning to my old self. Maybe I'm remembering what I_ used_ to feel. Maybe I'll get my memory back_.'

Rubbing her temples with her fists, she sifted through all of her memories and attempted to find the defining moment where her memories faded out of their–figurative–sepia tone and brought her to the closer present. Much to her disappointment, the gap between the two memories of Hemery and her abrasive awakening in the coffin were as defined as ever.

"Buffy!" Cordy shouted down to her, "Everyone's back!"

_Showtime._

* * *

Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, with some good ol' shirtless Angel and a few 'classic Cordy' lines that I quite like.  
Quickly, I know that Cordy acting the way she is is pretty out of character for the time period in the show, but I bring back the old Cordelia in response to Buffy. She's still the good, lovable and slightly more tactful Cordy that we all love underneath, but I enjoy writing bringing out some of the old Cordelia much more when she interacts with Buffy.  
If you liked, feel free to let me know. Reviews and feedback are always good. :D


	15. Phone A Friend

**Authors Note: **I'm pretty much working on a broken laptop right now. The hinges attaching the screen are broken, so I kind of have to use something to support the screen. Not the point, anyway; I've got all my stuff backed up onto a USB and I doubt that I'll update any less frequently, but if I don't then that's why. Okay, onto my usual ramble;

Fifteenth chapter! I honestly wasn't sure I was going to get this far, and I'm really glad. I wouldn't have had the inspiration to write half of what I did without everyone who commented, reviewed, favourited and alerted. Thank you so, so much. I've started this chapter just before A.I. get back to the Hyperion. This is a pretty pivotal chapter. I'm sorry it's so short, but the length of the next one makes up for it. I originally had the two combined, but it was way too long for my liking so I segregated them.  
Also, I haven't said it in a while, but BtVS, AtS and all affiliates are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.  
As always, read and enjoy!  


* * *

_Earlier that morning. _

It was dark where they were, skulking through the tunnels in search of a vampire nest that was dangerously close to a childrens' nursery. The groups had split into two with Angel and Gunn preferring to take a different route in their pursuit, leaving Fred and Wesley to continue on the most direct path.

Wesley was the happiest he had been in his entire life, being with Fred. There was nothing else he wanted in the world more than her. Little to Fred's knowledge, Wesley had a ring hidden in their room that summed up his feelings quite satisfactorily. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, knowing that the person you loved most loved you back. Thoughts of this nature brought Wesley to the issue at hand.

"I think he's doing okay," Fred said as Wesley tried to listen to her words and not fixate on her wonderful Southern twang. "I mean, Angel can handle himself." When Wesley looked at her she understood more clearly what he had meant. "Oh, right, because Buffy and Gunn, and he... Yeah. I don't know. He's been broodin' a lot, but that's –"

"Not entirely new for him," Wesley finished – a common occurrence for the two.

"Somethin' like that. She's good for the business though. You know..." Fred looked thoughtful and Wesley waited for her to continue. "I'm surprised that no-one's noticed that she's a Slayer. Isn't there a lot of demon lore on it?"

"Yes, but from what Willow has told Cordelia the Buffy-bot is still up and running."

"Have they told Willow about Buffy yet?"

Wesley headed up a dank stairwell that would undoubtedly lead them into some danger. He shouldn't have worn his good shoes.

"No, Angel still insists that we keep her in the dark," Wesley paused to look examine the darkness and smile at his incidental joke, "But if he hasn't come up with any new ideas by tomorrow I'm going to tell Buffy myself. This has gone on long enough."

"What about Lilah? If Buffy knew about Sunnydale she would probably leave, and she said she wants to help fight."

Fred heard a noise and lifted her sword. Wesley proceeded to do the same. "I think it's up to Buffy. This isn't really her fight. As amazing as it is that a twenty year old girl in her prime should belong in L.A. less than a two-hundred and forty year old immortal with a fair aversion to tanning, I think it's the case."

*

"Buffy! Everyone's back!"

"_Damnit!_" Buffy cursed, kicking the wall. Pausing to listen to the quiet echo the impact sent through the walls, she was distracted by a larger impact that sounded from the lobby. Grabbing her sword and stake, she hurried out. Much to her disappointment she found no demon to fight, only Wesley and Cordelia re-enacting a scene that had apparently occurred earlier between himself and a particularly skilled vampire. Transfixed on the – actually rather enthralling – re-enactment taking place, Buffy didn't spot Gunn until she ploughed into his chest, nearly knocking him down the stairs she was now perched at the top of.

"Oh, sorry! Sorry," she apologised profusely.

Gunn recovered instantaneously and looked back at her with a large grin. "Naw, it's cool. I'd say we're even now," he said, referring to when they had first met.

"Ha ha," she laughed uneasily. "Wait, if it's day-time, how did Angel go out with you guys?"

"Tunnels," Angel's voice told her from behind. "Tunnels and thick, woollen blankets."

"I wish you'd just buy a van or something," Fred said, a little of her Southern twang squeezing back into her voice as she walked out of Angel's office. Wesley, finished with his dramatics, brought himself up the stairs to Fred and placed his arm casually – but ever so delicately – around her waist with the same high level of admiration and affection that Buffy witnessed between the two every day. Buffy unwittingly shot Angel a look that asked 'were we like that?', but luckily the vampire missed it.

"Gunn?" she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him into Angel's office, closing the door quietly. "We need to uh, talk."

*

Angel watched Buffy grab Gunn's hand tentatively and lead him into the other room. She'd been here a month, Angel surmised, and still she didn't remember him – remember anyone.

Angel cleaned off his sword and discarded the sinister looking, malodorous rag when he was finished. He had no more day-work ahead of him, so all that was left was to train and wait for the night.

Busy mapping out his training session and focal points, Angel missed when Buffy re-entered the room with Gunn still at her side. Gunns' posture was hunched and his face showed signs of anguish. Regardless of recent arguments and problems, Angel still worried for his friend. Before he could walk over and ask what was wrong, however, Buffy spoke.

*

"Uhm, guys?" Buffy began politely, careful to avoid the authoritative tone she found herself automatically using when faced with a large group or difficult problem. "I need to talk to you all about something. Could we sit?"

Obligingly, the group of five seated walked into and seated themselves on the the desk and in the chairs of Angel's office. Angel remained aloof, choosing to place himself in a corner at the back as he was prone to doing when Buffy was making a speech.

"I don't think I can thank you enough for letting me stay. I mean, I know I have a history with a few of you," her eyes darted towards and from Angel quickly and she felt a blush tinge her cheeks in remembrance of her earlier conversation with Cordelia. Angel stared confusedly and Cordelia looked somewhere between amused and worried about whether Buffy would divulge what she had been told. "But still, it means so much to me that you took me in. Especially after I uh," she wished she had held her tongue, "You know... Pummelled a few of you. Anyway, I appreciate it so much, and I can honestly say that I feel like I'm a part of a family. Sure, I think I'd probably be some third cousin twice removed with no real blood connection... But that's not the point..." she trailed off, growing more humiliated and unconfident by the second. "The pointy end is that I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to tell you how much it meant to me, because," she let her eyes roam around the room and observe the looks that the five were casting at each other, "... Because, well," she suddenly didn't feel like she could say it. She couldn't say it. Why had she thought she could say it? Gulping nervously, she took a deep breath and just spat it out. "Because I'm going back to Sunnydale."

*

Angel stood, saying nothing, welcoming the numbness that his cold body temperature allowed effortlessly.

"I'm sorry for being so spotaneous, but I need to go back. You were right Angel," Angel stared at her, horrified by the suggestion that anything he had said or done had brought about her departure, "This isn't my fight. Lilah trained me, she used me, but it was to get to you. I was just a tool in all of this. I need to go back, find my roots, find out who I was there. I didn't leave before because..." her eyes landed on Gunn and Angel heard the faint _'riiip' _of his heart shredding itself again, "I needed to be here. I'm just filler here. I don't want to be filler. I want to be filled... Okay, rephrasing that," she stumbled on and Angel thought about how much he was going to miss her inane ranting, "I want to be someone. I want to define myself and everything around me, I don't want to just... Fit neatly into some box. And from what I hear, Sunnydale really needs me."

"I thought Willow had it covered," Fred blurted, lifting a hand to her mouth in realisation of her massive mistake. Buffys' head swivelled towards her and her eyes widened in shock.

"What did you say?"

"Willow, your friend in Sunnydale," Cordy elaborated, shooting Angel an apologetic look that told him that they all knew the situation couldn't be salvaged.

"I thought she was dead," Buffy said in a flat, disbelieving voice. "I thought they were all dead."

"You never said anything," Gunn replied, still reeling from Buffy's confession.

"Why did I need to? Lilah told me they were _dead_!" Buffy exclaimed belligerently. "I had people! I had people who love me. Back in Sunnydale. People who could help me figure out who I am, and you didn't_ tell me_?"

"We didn't know to," said Gunn.

Buffy snapped her head towards Angel this time. "You did. You knew. You knew all along. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Buffy, it's complicated –"

"Don't you think I know that?" she spat.

"– I didn't want you to see them. If there was any chance we could recover your memory, I didn't want you to have to see them. We had to exhaust every avenue we had before we sent you back to them. You didn't know who they were. It would have killed them, knowing that you were alive again and you didn't remember them."

"... I was really dead, wasn't I?" she hissed accusingly.

Angel was genuinely taken aback by that statement. "... Of course you were. We figured that Willow must have brought you back. I thought you knew."

Her eyes shone with malice one second, and the next Buffy was laughing. It wasn't the kind that filled Angel with her light, though, it was painful laughter; her shrill laughter rang out and pierced like daggers. "Didn't think I knew? How the_ hell_ could I have known, if you didn't tell me? I thought we already established that my supposed 'Watcher' was bad. We knew that Lilah was bad. You're supposed to be the good ones_. You were supposed to help me_!" On the last two words her voice broke and a wounded desperation was more prevalent than ever. Angel was willing to bet that Gunn was resisting the temptation to pull her into his arms as much as he was at that moment. Well, almost as much.

"Buffy," Wesley explained, "We thought you knew all this." Wesley was covering for him. Angel felt extremely guilty as he watched the ex-watcher lie through his teeth for a demon like himself that didn't deserve it. "We never said anything... We thought it would have been too painful for you to discuss it. We're sorry."

"You were supposed to_ help me_," she repeated, her voice now resembling a growl. "You all said you'd_ help me_."

Cordelia, realising that the situation was nearing explosive, drew cautiously closer to Buffy.

"Buffy, we didn't know," she reasoned calmly, "You used an alias, and you seemed to know about Sunnydale. We never thought to ask."

"No," she snapped, her head shaking back and forth erratically as she paced, paying no mind to the room of onlookers. "No. No. I can't hear this. This is too much. It's too much. I can't. No."

"Everyone," Gunn interjected, "I need to talk to Buffy. I'd like you to leave."

Angel, who knew that he had a lot of explaining to do, refused. Everyone else obligingly forwarded out, leaving Gunn, Angel and Buffy in a familiar situation.

"Angel, I need to talk to Buffy," Gunn repeated. Angel held his position, crossing his arms over his chest with firm resolve.

"I'm not going, this is more important."

"You lied to her. You deserve a chance to make it right. But _I _never lied, and I need to talk to her."

"This isn't a competition!" Angel hissed, tilting his head towards Buffy, who was staring at the two pensively.

"No. It isn't," she piped up. "We've been here. We've done this before. I don't give a damn about the testosterone poisoning you both seem to be suffering from. What Angel has to say is more important. And," she added, addressing Angel, "The sooner I get away from you, the less likely it is that you and my stake get cuddly."

Gunn left without another word, leaving a guilty vampire in the throes of a very agitated Slayer. Buffy rounded on Angel, her small figure seeming much more menacing when accompanied with the pure, unadulterated rage that emanated from her. "Tell me everything. Now."

Angel observed the way her hand was positioned readily over her stake, her index finger brushing it lightly. "What do you want to know?"

"No. We played that game before and it got me a long vacation in demon-land and a whole lot of nothing. You don't ask: you tell me everything you know."

Angel sat down at his desk as though he was simply handling another business proceeding and indicated for her to do the same.

"You have two close friends; Willow Rosenberg and Xander Harris."

Buffy nodded, "Lilah told me about Xander."

"What did she tell you?"

"... That he existed."

Angel exhaled gustily. "I don't think I can explain right."

"Well, explain," she demanded, "And we'll save the Oxford edition for later."

Angel shook his head and picked up the phone receiver. "No." Reaching into the top drawer of his desk, Angel pulled out a little red book and flicked the page to 'S'. After several seconds he located what he was looking for.

_'Summers Residence.' _

* * *

Just to clarify quickly; yes, Buffy did just break up with Gunn on account of her needing to return to Sunnydale and her guilt about her feelings for Angel. I felt bad about this, seeing as I love Gunn. The Angel/Buffy office scene is sort of like an earlier chapter in the way that Angel tries to tell her everything he can, except this time she knows the Scoobies are alive, and they're going to meet.  
Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.


	16. Family Ties, Family Lies

**Authors Note: **I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series; they and their affiliates are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc. The first scene in this chapter (before I deviate from the canon) is from the Buffy Season 6 episode 'Older and Far Away', still belonging to Joss Whedon.  
Okay, next chapter. I'm still pushing through this horrible, awful writers block that has decided to bombard me _just_ as I've planned out the next few chapters. I've given you guys a nice, long chapter as recompense, should I fail to update for a period longer than usual. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, alerted, favourited, etc. It keeps me writing like I am now, instead of studying like I should be.  
As always, read and enjoy!  


* * *

Willow found that Emily Young, although expert in all things psychiatric, was ill-equipped to deal with Dawns' paranormal problems. Dawn found that Emily Young, although perfectly nice, was ill-equipped to deal with her teenage problems. Nothing about the six weeks of therapy spelled 'good'. The school, realising – when Dawns' fist once again met with a classmates' face – that therapy had been of little use, coerced Dawn into meeting with the school counsellor in a last ditch attempt of avoiding another expulsion at Sunnydale High. If they had been smart, they would have been more concerned with the ever rising death toll in their student populous, but unfortunately the predominance of the staff was not thus.

"Dawn?" her history teacher said, holding the note she had just been delivered, "They need you in the guidance office."

Dawn trudged down the hallway with her books timidly in hand. She was wearing her favourite blue sweater and best fitting jeans. Stopping to examine herself in the bathroom she hoped that she looked altogether sane. More sane than her record indicated, anyway.

Knocking on the door with only slight force – in the hopes that her school counsellor wouldn't hear her – Dawn waited patiently and, much to her chagrin, the door was opened half a minute later by a pleasant looking woman with bouncy brown curls and a welcoming smile. Walking back to her chair and encouraging Dawn to take a seat, the woman leaned over her mahogany desk and began to speak.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she said, noticing Dawn's faraway expression and jumpiness. "Just a follow up after your... Your loss. And since I'm new here I thought it'd give us a chance to get to know each other."

"Great," Dawn replied impassively, feeling too guilty to be rude outright.

"So I've been looking through your file, and um, your grades have slipped a little," the woman used an upward inflection at the end of the sentence as if to ask 'why is that?'.

"I uh, I have really hard classes this quarter," she explained, hoping that would be it.

The woman kept her chipper countenance, but Dawn noticed that her smile changed. It was the sort of smile that an adult would give a child who believed they could fly, or asked them where babies came from far too soon. It was very obvious that the woman was humouring her. "Still, teachers say that you've seemed a little distracted lately."

Dawn was far too eager to leave the office and get back to her class than she was to spill her intimate feelings, however much she needed to. "I'm not. I'm - I'm fine. It's my sisters' birthday, so I'm a little stressed." It was technically true, anyway.

"Okay," she smiled. "It's just, you know, I know it must seem weird; talking to a stranger about stuff, but I want you to know that if something's going on, something's up, my job – the most important part of my job, is looking out for you."

Dawn was about to continue her false reassurances of perfect happiness when someone else knocked on the door. Turning her head to see who it was, Dawn was overcome with surprise and fear when she saw Willow.

Willow looked panicked. That was the first thing she noticed. She'd thrown on everything she was wearing in apparent haste; her socks were mismatched, her hair unkempt and she was wearing a pink top that Dawn was almost certain was her own. If the situation had seemed less dire Dawn probably would have been laughing at her.

In one of Willows' hands were the car keys, Xander was hooked onto the opposite arm and Anya hovered behind the two, not even looking annoyed that Willow and Xanders' contact was cutting off any of her own with him. Much.

"Dawn," Willow puffed urgently. "We need to go."

Dawn stood to leave but the guidance councillor placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back down. "Could it wait a moment?" she asked Willow in a sugar-sweet tone.

"Oh, hi," Willow greeted the woman disinterestedly. "No, it can't. Family emergency."

The guidance councillor stepped aside, looking sour. Turning towards Dawn she smiled broadly, "Alright Dawn, I'd like you to come back and see me as soon as you get back," she waved the file at Dawn in explanation. Dawn nodded absent-mindedly and joined Willow and Xander in their Olympic-worthy sprint out the school and into the car.

"Okay, why did you do that?" she addressed the three of them from the backseat next to Anya.

"Buffy's alive but she doesn't remember any of us. She's living in L.A. with Angel. They're not sex friends. She doesn't like him," Anya stated bluntly, ignoring the evident anger on the faces of the two in the front seat.

"What?!" Dawn shouted, causing a person in the next car over to shoot her a very pointed look. "She's alive?" Willow and Xander nodded, their expressions torn halfway between glee and confusion. "But she doesn't remember us?"

"No," Xander said, "Apparently she only remembers life before Sunnydale. Before _anything_ in Sunnydale."

It took Dawn a moment, but she understood what he was trying to say. "So she doesn't remember me before I was... Made?" her voice choked on the repulsively artificial implications when she spat the last word out.

Willow inclined her head affirmatively. "We're sorry Dawnie."

"Why are we going there?" Anya questioned, frustrated about the car trip she was taking instead of earning money. "Why can't Angel just drive Buffy here?"

"Because we need to talk to everyone who's been around her since she came back. Not to mention the sunlight thing," said Willow.

"No we don't. We can just get Angel to drop her back at night. She has Slayer stamina and speed, right? She could probably sprint home in a day or so."

Willow sighed. "Okay, so maybe we don't _need_ to talk to everyone, but we want to. It's important to see how significantly she's changed. And," she added with obvious chagrin, "Wesley is pretty much going to have to be our Giles right now."

"But we can bring her back after that, right? No hanging around in L.A. while my beautiful business gets overtaken by that woman on the corner trying to pass off her greasy hair as woven hair of troll?"

Willow sighed again, and this time Xander joined in, touching Anya's hand affectionately nonetheless. He stroked her engagement band and shot her a gentle smile, causing her to temporarily forget about the crazy woman on the corner of The Magic Box.

"Yes, we'll bring her back soon. A few days, tops," Willow told the dashboard.

"Wait," said Dawn as they stopped at a pair of traffic lights and witnessed an old man and a questionable-looking teenage girl argue loudly about something they couldn't discern. "Where's Tara? If Buffy's memory is really gone, then we could do some spells to recover it. Tara's good at spells, and you're not exactly up to it right now, Willow."

Xander and Willow shot each other nervous glances. "Well, Dawnie, Tara and I aren't exactly together..."

"It doesn't matter! This is about Buffy!" Dawn screeched, causing Anya to pinch her.

"Ssh, we need to be able to hear Buffy. Which we won't be able to do if you make those noises."

"Maybe Dawn's right," Xander agreed, pulling out his mobile. "I can ask her to drive down."

"No," Willow replied, secretly hopeful for a meeting with Tara, "The dorms aren't too far from here. We could make it there and back without too much time lost."

Xander nodded into the receiver pressed against his ear. "Alright, it's ringing. Hello? Tara? Look, we've got a pretty big emergency – no, Willow's fine. No, she's not – well, that was what I was calling about. We may need you to come to L.A. – it's a long story but," Dawn watched Xanders' face, which looked hopeful throughout the conversation. She knew that Tara wouldn't abandon them when they really needed it. "Yes. It's about Buffy. It's a long – could you pack for a few days and meet us outside your dorm room? Thanks, Tara," Xander finished, hanging up the phone and looking somewhat relieved. "She's in. I told her she may not be able to pack her broomstick and that almost clinched it, but Xander worked some magic of his own," he joked in an attempt to lighten the mood which, in Dawns' opinion, failed miserably.

One more passenger, several hours, five traffic jams and sixteen monotonous games of 'I spy' later the group of five pulled up outside a fancy and very old fashioned hotel that they were told was called the Hyperion.

"Oh. Oh, no," Xander murmured.

"What?" Willow asked, immediately alarmed by the look on his face.

"I was so excited about seeing Buffy that I forgot."

"Forgot what?" she pressed. Receiving no answer she raised her voice, "Xander, forgot what?"

Willow was distracted temporarily by the footsteps sounding down the path. Turning around, luggage in hand, she was met with Angel and Cordelia.

"About deadboy," Xander concluded, throwing his fist into Angel's face with obvious relish.

"Good to see you too," Angel said, retaining his trademark stoicism.

"You didn't tell us. We remember when we performed the spell: she must have been back for _months,_ and you only just decided to tell us. She has a _sister_ who thought she was dead. This isn't just about friends, you kept it from her family," Xander spat.

Angel stayed on the defensive, knowing all along that he was the one in the wrong. "I only met her, I mean, found her, a few weeks ago."

"That's still a few more weeks of pain for Dawn," he glared.

Angel turned to face Dawn. "Dawn, I'm sorry. I should have called you sooner. I just wanted to try and bring her back – her memory – so that you wouldn't have to see her like this."

Dawn's only response was a grunt.

"I am _so_ glad that he left Sunnydale," Xander muttered to Willow under his breath.

"Willow!" Cordy hugged her, expressing sentiments of joy at finally being able to see her again, and not quite being able to say that she missed Sunnydale. Introductions were made and impertinent questions such as 'do you two have sex now?' were asked incessantly by Anya (who had conveniently forgotten about Xander and Cordelia's history, but kept a protective grip on him at all times), until Xander gave her such a look that she was quiet. Tara – not knowing anyone and only having met Angel at Buffy's funeral briefly – stayed the quietest. Dawn kept close to her, feeling bad that she couldn't talk to anyone.

"Wait," Dawn whispered to Tara, "Do I tell Buffy that we're related?"

Tara seemed unsure and Willow turned around at that moment, having heard the question. "I don't think so."

Dawn nodded sadly and Willow turned back to Angel, forgetting her worries in her excitement about seeing Buffy. "Where is she?" she asked, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Don't worry Dawn, I've got a plan," Xander whispered to her.

"She's upstairs. I'll show you your rooms first, then we'll... Introduce her," Angel replied.

"She's still pretty much Our Little Buffy, aside from the memory loss," Cordy assured them heartily, then – feeling guilty for her bluntness – conceded, "But now that you guys are here we can fix it!"

"Up here," Angel indicated to them to ascend the stairs and into a reasonably lengthy hallway, which they all did.

"Wow. This sure beats your mansion back in Sunnydale," Willow observed. "It's a lot less... Dusty."

Angel muttered an absent-minded 'thanks' and set his eyes on one particular door. The door was exactly the same as all of the others, with freshly applied lacquer and a wooden frame. It was what they saw inside the door that caused them all to freeze and gasp in unison.

"Buffy," whispered Dawn.

Buffy appeared to be in an argument with the man she was talking to. When Angel moved forward and said something to the both of them quietly, they parted and averted their gazes without another word. Dawn wondered what was going on between the two, and made a mental note to ask. Were they dating? No, Dawn scolded herself. Why would they be dating if Angel were here? Memory or not, Buffy would never choose any other guy over Angel. Would she?

"I think it's probably better if I..." Angel addressed the taller man apologetically.

"Yeah, it's cool," he replied in an understanding tone, "I'm gonna do a round of the block. There's gotta be some evil to kill."

Dawn saw Buffy watch the man go with some chagrin before her attention was turned to her five closest friends and family in Sunnydale.

"I think Tara and I should leave. We're not close to Buffy," Anya said to Xander, who nodded in agreement.

"Maybe that'd be best. Could Buff, Willow, Dawn and I have some time?" Xander asked Tara and Anya.

"Of course," Tara replied sweetly, walking out the door.

"Look anywhere you want. There's a nice garden out the back, a TV upstairs," Angel told them, then added apologetically with a small smile; "Not much in the way of refreshments, though."

Anya began to make a comment about her and Xanders' bed and how well sound echoed into other rooms, but Tara gently prodded her from the room before she could finish.

*

Buffy turned and met with three expectant gazes. Raising her hand timidly, she greeted them.

"Hi, I'm Buffy."

She watched curiously as the red-heads' eyes welled with tears and the tall brunette cracked a desperate smile. The taller man, who she could only assume was Xander, smiled slightly. His eyes, however, fully showed just how glad he really was.

When the three offered no response and Angel shifted to the side and made himself a spectator, Buffy continued. Looking at the man with black hair, she made her assumptions; "You're... Xander?"

Xander nodded and beamed at her. "Hey, I'm your friendly neighbourhood Xander. Or... Out of neighbourhood," he shook his head, as if to rid it of the dorkiness he was emitting in waves. Buffy liked this boy. He was friendly and inviting. She laughed at his attempt at an introduction and hesitantly hugged him. "Happy Birthday, Buff."

"Thank you."

Next was the red-head. "I'm Willow," she smiled, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. "Happy Birthday Buffy."

"Thank you. Boy, my friends have weird names. Willow, Xander, Angel," Buffy teased.

Willow chuckled and continued. "You met me on your first day of Sunnydale high. We're pretty much best friends." The two hugged and Willow realised that she had forgotten to add; "Oh, and I'm a witch."

Buffys' eyes bugged. "Really? That's... Cool! I mean, good for you."

Willow laughed, "You sounded something like that the first time, too."

Buffy shifted and fidgeted as though she was embarrassed by something. "Could you..."

Willow looked concerned, "Could I what?"

"Could you... Do a spell?"

Willow laughed again. Ignoring the warning looks that Xander shot her, she shook her head in assurance that she would be fine. "Sure, Buffy."

Raising her hand, she twirled her fingers around delicately and allowed sparks to shoot spectacularly from them. It was actually a magic-tracing spell, but it was the prettiest one. Buffy lit up with glee as she saw it and Willow saw the look on Angels' face, which plainly said that he thought she was the most adorable person on earth.

The spell was designed to track the nearest magical deception or tampering, but L.A. would be full of things like that and the spell was fairly innocuous. The sparks shot off into the air; in they eyes of everyone else they broke through the ceiling, leaving no damage; in Willows' eyes they circled the room counter-clockwise before merging with Buffy.

"Ow," Buffy said mildly, scratching the back of her neck and not noticing Willow's shock.

"What?" Dawn and Angel asked simultaneously.

"... Nothing, just a pinch in my neck," she muttered back.

The two relaxed visibly and the introductions continued. Buffy took the next logical step and drew her head towards the girl who she thought she had never seen before. She waited for the brunette to talk, but Dawn, in her nervousness, was unable to push out any words.

Xander, mistaking her nervousness for absence of mind, hastily began the introduction.

"This is Dawn. She's your sister."

"What? I don't have a sister." There was no questioning in her voice. No uncertainty. Even knowing that it wasn't Buffy's fault, those words stung.

"No, she's... A foster child. She came to live with you in Sunnydale."

"Oh... Alright," Buffy accepted, not seeming very convinced. Looking towards Dawn, she made her own introduction, presumably because Dawn was younger than the rest of them. Marginally! Except for Angel, but everyone else in the room was in the same boat as her on that one. "Hi Dawn."

Dawns' eyes filled to the brim with tears. Those two little words had such a profound effect on her that she almost had a hard time balancing. Luckily though, Buffy hugged her too. Dawn rested her head on Buffys' shoulder and the two held each other for an exceptionally longer period of time than the rest of them.

Letting her tears run freely, Dawn clung to her sister and thanked the higher powers for the little slice of peace that she could feel returning. She wasn't alone anymore – not completely. Complications be damned, she was thankful for that.

"Happy Birthday, Buffy."

*

"Did you want a Coke?" Angel asked Willow, the two picking up dinner – Chinese Takeout – for the assemblage in the Hyperion.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," she replied distractedly, lifting the plastic bag Angel pointed to with his hand, which almost resulted in him dropping everything. Luckily his preternatural reflexes and sense of balance saved the bags he held as the cashiers behind the counter eyed him suspiciously, which was fair – no human should be able to catch four heavy fast-food bags simultaneously.

"Do you think this will be enough?" he asked her, glancing at the food filling up his arms as the two walked down the moonlit street and enjoyed the heat from their fried goods provided in the crisp and chilly weather.

Willow chuckled and smiled at him. "Buffy was right; you do overcook."

"Technically I didn't cook this," he mumbled, his mind taking him back to the times when Buffy had stayed the night and he had made her breakfast, and the one time they had been able to share a meal.

Willow realised quickly in what general direction she had sent his mind hurtling to. "Something's wrong with her Angel." Angel resisted the temptation to make a very sarcastic comment and held his tongue. "I need to do a spell on her."

Angel disallowed his automatic hesitance in hope that what she was saying could lead them to some sort of cure. He held a permanent level of respect for Willow and her magicks because of her restoring soul five years ago. Instead of objecting like his instinct told him to, he asked; "What kind of spell?"

"Well," Willow's tone shifted into what was undoubtedly her academic one, "When I did that spell for her – the pretty one," she continued, feeling stupid for not coming up with a more accurate description, "It tracked magical tampering or deceit. For the sake of secrecy the spell would only reveal itself to me unless – well," she digressed, "That's not really important. The important thing is that the spell got Buffy, which means that there's something magical interfering with her memory. If Tara and I perform a spell to lift the veil then there's a chance that Buffy will get her memory back."

"Okay. We'll need a meeting about it, we can't just walk into this blind. If we're going to be doing anything to Buffy –" Angel paused, regretting his phrasing, "We're going to need a plan, and total agreement from everyone." A moment later, Angel stopped walking and Willow halted to survey him inquisitively.

"... Do you... Do you think we should get her a cake?"

Willow laughed.

*

"No. No magic," Tara said forcefully, shifting from one foot to the other on the Hyperions' marble floor.

Xander stood his ground, which was incidentally right next to Tara's. "No," he agreed, his cold, hard stance somewhat defeated by the icing lingering on his upper lip.

Dawn was torn in between the two arguments. On the one hand, she didn't want Willow using magic, but on the other, any chance of Buffy getting her memory back was almost too good to resist.

Cordy was upstairs resting, having just had another vision. Angel was also upstairs, having promised to enter the discussion when he was sure that Cordy was alright. Fred had returned from her parents the day before and she was busy unpacking. The cake had been eaten and the candles blown out, last minute presents wrapped and unwrapped and birthday songs sung. The festivites were short lived, with no one very much in the partying spirit. Buffy least of all, pained at the thought of getting older still. This caused some huffing on Angels' part, who insisted that two-hundred and forty eight was still young enough.

Left in the public forum were Wesley, Gunn, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Tara and Anya to debate the risks and rewards of trying to tamper with Buffy's mind.

"Willow," Tara hushed her with sobriety, "You're suggesting _tampering _with someone's mind. I understand what you're trying to do, but Buffy's–Buffy's mind is fairly unstable–"

"Hey!" Buffy interjected.

"Sorry. What I mean is, her mind isn't together right now, and if you tried to force those pieces to come together then everything could fall apart."

Buffy lifted her hand to her head self-consciously as though Tara had meant it in the literal sense. "My head's going to fall apart?"

"No, Buffy!" Willow answered. "Tara, it could be our only way of getting her memory back."

"Or it could be the way to destroying it completely."

"Willow, as valid as your point is, I think that Tara may be right," Wesley said, observing the underlying anger that he had never seen in her before.

Anya seemed riddled with boredom and eager to resolve the problem. "Isn't there a way to summon back her memory? Like how you said you summoned back Angel's soul?"

Tara and Willow shook their heads. "No," said Willow, "It would do too much damage to her mind if I tried to help get her memory back that way. It would be like me rewriting words on a piece of paper that someone had already scribbled on; there would be the old letters and mine on top of it. It would be too subjective."

Anya nodded and sunk back into her seat, leaning into Xander. "Wesley and Tara are right, Wils. We can't risk losing all of Buff."

"But," Willow looked around pleadingly, "I can do it! I'd just be lifting a veil, that's all."

"We don't know where the veil is in relation to Buffy's mind. You could end up taking out a whole lot more out than you mean to," Tara repeated for the tenth time that night.

"Fine," Willow grumbled. "Should we just take her back to Sunnydale, then?"

"If you don't mind," Wesley addressed Willow directly, "We and Buffy are preparing an attack on several Wolfram & Hart clients in the next week, and that's something that we_ could_ use your magical aid in."

"What about Sunnydale?" Dawn asked.

"No, it's cool. Spike's got the fort held down," Willow replied offhandedly.

Dawn suddenly looked as agitated as Willow had the minute before. "Wait, does he know about Buffy?"

Willow shook her head guiltily. "I didn't think–"

"No," Dawn cut in, storming off, "You didn't."

Buffy stared at the enraged teenager who reminded her very much of her younger L.A.-self. "Who's Spike?"

*

Angel held Cordelia's hand and passed her a glass of cool water. "How are you feeling?"

Cordy smiled as the water slid comfortingly down her throat. "You'd think, being part demon, it would be easier. It's still kind of exhausting, though."

The two sat in silence for several minutes, Cordy closing her eyes as her breathing slowed and her hand remained in Angels'. Once Angel thought she was asleep, he extracted his hand from hers and rose. Too soon though; she wasn't sleeping yet.

"Where are you going?" she asked curiously; there was no clinginess in her voice, but Angel could see it the need her eyes.

Angel resumed his seat and took her hand again. "I thought you were asleep."

"No, just thinking."

"About what?"

Cordy knitted her eyebrows, looking hesitant. "Buffy's going back to Sunnydale." It was a statement, not a question.

Angel bowed his head as he was brought suddenly to the one thing that he had been trying very hard not to think about. "Yeah."

Cordelia placed her hand under his chin and lifted his face to meet her eyes. "Where does that leave us?" When Angel didn't reply, she continued, "I'm not asking any of you. I just want to know because," she sniffled, wiping tears from her eyes, "because of all those dashing Hollywood stars waiting outside my door," she joked half-heartedly.

Angel fought back tears of his own and slowly shook his head, allowing it to droop and his shoulders to hunch. "I'm sorry. I can't. I love you, Cordy, but... I just can't."

Cordy nodded and ignored the tears flowing freely down her face – when she spoke her voice was a hoarse whisper. "It's okay, I understand. Besides, I should have known; we've had this conversation already."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Cordy looked uneasy and she pulled the blanket over her torso as a signal to end the conversation. "I... think I might sleep now."

"Okay," said Angel, rising from his bedside manner and leaving a disheartened Cordy to welcomed dreams. "Sweet dreams."

*

Willow calmly snuck into Buffy's room and made sure that she was asleep. She tapped on the Slayers' shoulder and was pleased when Buffy sighed and rolled over, obviously enwrapped in her dream.

Placing three candles on each bedside table and lighting them, Willow sprinkled recently-crushed, fine green powder on the Slayer and carefully painted several Latin symbols onto her wrists and forehead.

"Athena, God of wisdom, I call upon thee. Lift the veil of deceit, lighten the shadows, guide the way. Lift the veil, light the shadows, guide the way. Lift the veil, light the shadows, guide the way," she chanted, lifting a blade to her palm, slicing and allowing her blood to drip onto the Slayers' temple, "In blood I pay."

Buffy jerked rigidly onto her back, her eyes opening and glassing over with fear as she stared at Willow in panic. Invisible chains restrained Buffy and foiled her attempts to struggle.

"Wh–" she started before being cut off by an unseen force that still allowed her to breathe, but not to talk.

"_No more lies_," hissed Willow.

It was the last thing Buffy heard before her senses cut out and everything went black.

*

There were few things in the morning that Angel enjoyed doing. A walk around the sunlit street was out of the question, as was a bowl of cereal or a piece of French toast sprinkled with cinnamon (a long time favourite of Cordelia's). When he could, Angel preferred to sleep in and wait until the sun waned and shadows were cast over a reasonable portion of the city.

There was one simple pleasure that he hadn't had for a long time. For anyone else, it would have been a simple task or even a chore, but to Angel it was one of the few things that he could have in the sunlight: waking Buffy.

Tip-toeing into her room, Angel was stopped in his tracks by an overwhelming smell of incense and blood; both animal and human. He knew immediately that it wasn't Buffy's, but that didn't ease his nerves in the slightest. Rushing over to her bedside, Angel examined Buffys' features and was relieved when he saw no apparent physical injuries. Grasping her shoulders, he shook her in an attempt to wake her up.

"Buffy," he said, a panicked edge seeping into his voice. "Buffy, wake_ up_." As Angel shook Buffy's shoulders, an animal bone wormed its' way out of the sheets. A spell. Willow had done a spell. "_Wake up!_"

"Angel?" a female asked sleepily from behind him, her scent decoratin g the items in the bed with Buffy. "Is everything okay?"

Whipping his head around and gaping disbelievingly, Angel replied; "Willow, what did you _do?_"

* * *

Okay, some quick notes. This is basically my review of this chapter, so feel free to skip this part.  
I loved writing the Buffy/Scooby reunion, after fifteen chapters I'm glad they've finally met. Dawn telling Buffy that she's adopted: seemed like the only way to get Buffy to accept Dawn as a sister, temporarily, seeing as the Dawn-version of memories is still being blocked out. Willow: is at the stage in her life where, especially with no Buffy to help her with Dawn and her addiction to magic having driven Tara away, she's using magicks as an out for everything. The only difference between this and the canon is that Willow hasn't yet given up magick in Older and Far Away. Without Buffy she coped very badly, as she's practically raising Dawn herself. Buffy's birthday: I couldn't really focus on it as much as I would have liked, but it still got a mention. Speaking of mentions, I was glad to get one of Spike in there. More meetings and mentions will come when they get back to Sunnydale. Lastly, Cordy: I know she and Angel already had _that_ talk, but I wanted to clarify that Angel's realised that he loves Buffy in that way, not Cordy. I love Angel and Cordy as best friends, it's adorable. Romance ruined it for me. Anyway, enough babble for now.

Reviews and comments are welcome.


	17. Lifting The Veil

Okay, so it's easter here in Australia today. I'm not sure about timezones, but it's easter _here_, so I've updated early as an easter treat. *Attaches cyber chocolate to story*.  
I'm hoping everyone is still enjoying reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it, and this chapter is where things start to become clearer about Buffy. I had so much fun writing this, I can't even describe it. I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out, but I'm posting it here for you to decide.  
As always, read and enjoy.

* * *

Willow bit her lip nervously, mistaking the reasons for his disbelief. "Did it work?"

Angel kept his hand on Buffy's shoulder, shifting his body to shield her from any dangers the witch still presented. "What did you do?"

"I did a spell to get her memory back. Wake her up, she'll remember. I told you it would work."

Angel felt a terse growl shred its' way out of his chest, but the anger was quickly lapped up by the waves of panic that spread through him like wildfire. "She won't wake up. I... Wake her up. Do you want me to get Tara?"

"No!" Willow exclaimed, making her way over to Buffy. "No, I can fix it."

"Willow, I don't know if that's the best idea."

Willow wore an aggressive attitude that Angel had never seen on the usually docile girl. "I said I can _do_ it."

"Fine, I won't get her," Angel lied, itching to seek Tara's help but reluctant to leave a vulnerable Buffy alone with an angry Willow for even a second. "But I do have to get some case files mailed. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"You're going to get her, aren't you?" she spat untrustingly, a flash of fury etching itself across her face for a millisecond. The wave of anger passed and she seemed to calm herself down. "I'm sorry, I just... I want Buffy to be okay, y'know?"

Angel nodded and made his way quickly out of the room. Walking down the hallway – which was free of the life it was accustomed to, due to the early hour – Angel stopped at what he was fairly sure was Tara's room and knocked.

Muted rustling sounded before a muffled 'I'm coming!'. After several minutes of banging and clattering, Tara opened the door. The room looked spotless and she herself perfectly presentable. '_The wonders of magic_,' he thought.

Which was why he was there in the first place.

"Oh, Angel?" she spoke his name with an upward inflection at the end, as a small child unsure of a wrongdoing would. She was probably unsure why he was paying her a visit so early in the morning. Or, at all.

"Hey," he began nervously. He had underestimated how much power Willow had; this morning he had felt what he suspected wasn't even the full extent of it, and it frightened him. He was all-but ready to get down on one knee and beg for Tara's help, but the desperate glint in the other witches' eye left him with an irksome sensation that he was being constantly watched. "Could I come in?" he asked in an unnecessarily hushed voice.

"Yeah, come in."

Tara nodded and opened the door further for him. He swept in and stood awkwardly. Tara, unable to offer him any refreshments from his own home and unsure of what he was there for, surmised to the best of her ability.

"I-It's Willow, isn't it?"

Now it was Angel's turn to nod. "There's something different. She's done something to Buffy. She won't wake up."

Tara's eyes grew wide. "She... No, she wouldn't have. Was there... Blood?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't hers."

"No."

Tara grabbed a book from inside a duffle bag just beside her bed and flicked rapidly to the middle. "Did she have anything on, or beside her that looked like this?" She turned the page to face him and he was met with the same oddly shaped bone that had shaken out of Buffy's bedding.

"Yes."

Tara picked up a small woven bag opposite the duffle bag and strode out of the room with an air of authority Angel hadn't seen in her before. "Come on, follow me."

Angel did as he was told and trailed behind her on the way to Willow's room. He moved to shield her from Willow much as he had an unconscious Buffy earlier on, but Tara pushed him gently to her side. "No," she whispered, "Let me talk."

Willow was frantically muttering chants over Buffy's bed, with different herbs and bones scattered around the Slayer. When Tara walked in, Willow's eyes narrowed in anger, then relaxed as her face crumpled in shame.

"Tara, I tried to make it better for her. Now she won't wake up," she rushed hysterically. Tara – somewhat hesitantly – took Willow in her arms and stroked her hair soothingly.

"Shh," she cooed, the girl in her arms relaxing visibly. Tara seemed to realise that agitating Willow at this stage would do them no good in their cause.

"I tried so hard. I just want everything to be okay," Willow justified, sniffling into Tara's neck. Stepping back, she forced Willow to stand tall, the teary-eyed witch still wearing the same shameful, hopeless expression.

Angel, however furious about what Willow had done, appreciated her intentions. If he had tried to bring Buffy back, failed, tried to make everything okay by looking after someone who wasn't even technically her family, and then discovered that Buffy was alive, but suffering partial memory loss, he didn't know what he would do. Actually, he did. It would probably have been exactly the same as Willow.

"I can't connect with the human mind," Willow said to Tara with more composure, "Not like you can. She's in some sort of mystically-induced coma -" at the word 'coma', Angel had to try very hard to keep a straight face and an unclenched fist, "- but I'm pretty sure it's her minds' way of dealing with what I'm trying to do."

She was explaining to Angel now, Tara knowing all of this, "The unconsciousness is normal, but she shouldn't have been out this long. I must have done something wrong."

Tara examined Buffy's sleeping frame. "You put the Athena's symbol on the wrong wrist. It - it'll be okay. I have to wake her up soon though, or she won't."

"Won't wake up?" Angel interjected with panic.

"N-No, I can fix this. You're lucky you didn't do something more damaging," Tara reproached the other witch. "You should have waited for me."

"I did wait for you," Willow murmured with thick ambiguity, causing Tara to blush.

Tara cast her eyes downward. "I think you should l-l...leave," she said quietly, and Angel noticed that her stutter seemed to appear most when she was talking to or about Willow. Willow left the room without another word, and Angel could smell the tears spilling down her cheeks in buckets. As she walked out, Tara began to rearrange the tools left and place a number of her own around the bed. She grasped the Slayers' blood-covered wrist and dabbed it with some sort of fluid on a cloth, then grabbing the other arm and painting an identical symbol onto it.

Angel floated around the room, not yet feeling awkward enough to remove himself from Buffy's presence while she was still in danger. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked after five minutes of complete silence.

Tara worked meticulously on every minute detail of the spell, correcting and recorrecting relentlessly before attempting to repair the damage Willow had done. "She should be. I'm not sure if she'll get her memory back, though. Willow is an amazing witch, but a simple mistake like that can negate a whole spell. I'm trying to wake her up, not recover her memory, so don't be disappointed if it... If it doesn't work."

In all honesty Angel hadn't even thought about the possible memory-recovery; he was much more concerned about whether or not she would wake up at all. Now that the seed was planted in his mind, however, he couldn't stop himself from enquiring further.

"She might get her memory back?"

Tara sighed quietly at Angel taking her words as the polar opposite of how she had meant them. "No, I don't think she will."

The seed of hope that had unwittingly bloomed inside him quickly withered and died, leaving only bare, empty, baron soil. "Okay."

* * *

It was weird. Like she'd been here before, but... Not.

On a conscious level she knew that she had never been there, never walked those halls, never laughed amicably with those people, but that insistent little voice that had been whispering to her for weeks was finally free of its' mystical bindings, and it ran rampant in her head. No, Buffy didn't remember being in those halls. She didn't remember Dawn being there at that point in time, and she definitely didn't remember finding her mothers' lifeless body still on the couch. She had never done those things, because if she had she would remember it, right?

Her forgotten life was more exciting than the life she recalled by a hundredfold, at least. She sat vigil in her mind, waiting; watching the clips and images of her life as they flashed before her eyes. The pieces of the puzzle of her memories all came together magnetically, and she knew everything. In the dark caverns of her caged mind, two people struggled for dominance: Buffy Summers; the Slayer and Buffy Summers; shoe aficionado.

The power struggle raged on, and as it progressed each opponent grew more like each other. The dark, eerie caverns of the lost girls' mind illuminated and she knew who she was. She _really_ knew who she was.

She was Buffy Summers. She was the Slayer.

She was torn out of heaven.

She knew who she was, and she was still lost. Everything came together, and in that moment everything fell apart.

The scene changed instantaneously and Buffy was seated on a horizontal wooden log. Flames flickered and danced before her eyes and the first Slayer hovered behind them, prowling behind the burning fire.

"You think you know what you are."

Buffy furrowed her brow. "I do know. I'm Buffy Summers. I'm the Slayer. We've done this dance before. Thanks for the gift, by the way."

The first Slayer ignored her comment. "You are Buffy Summers. What next?"

"What do you mean, what's next?"

"What you've done. Destinies have been altered."

Buffy shook her head. "I haven't _done_ anything, and the last time I checked I was alter free. There's this twelve step program -"

The Slayer continued her circling of the fire, blatantly ignoring Buffy's rambling. "You exist, because I cease to exist. The next in your line exists because _you_ ceased to exist."

Buffy lowered her eyes sheepishly. "It was only for a minute..."

"You have a place. It is not amongst this realm."

"I gave that up."

"And yet the rift remains. Without your light, darkness pours through it."

"What do you mean, 'darkness pours through it'? Haven't 'The Omniscient Ones' ever heard of a nightlight?"

"Your return has set in motion more than you know. There was to be a child."

"A child? I'm going to have a baby?"

"There was to be a child for the ensouled vampire."

Buffy's mouth fell slightly open and her eyes bugged. "Angel? _Angel_ was going to have a baby? Look, I don't know how things worked on your side of the millennium, but where I hail from the living-dead are having some difficulty with the whole IVF concept."

"It was prophesised that a child would be born of two vampires, and he alone would rise to defeat Sahjhan."

"Sahjhan?" Buffy began to ask.

The first Slayer cut her off abruptly. "Your presence has disallowed the prophecy. The baby has died. Now it is up to you."

Buffy rested her hand over her stomach self-consciously, surprise and disbelief running through her head, along with something that could, potentially, be interpreted as joy. "... I'm going to have Angels' baby?"

"No, that is not within the ability of the Powers. A prophecy cannot be recreated."

"Then why are you -"

"But, with the original in hand, it can be changed. It is now _your_ destiny to defeat Sahjhan."

"Wait. Be kind, rewind; _who's Sahjhan_?"

"We cannot make you remember. There are forces interfering that we cannot halt; it is that which you must destroy."

"Wait," Buffy spoke with stridence, properly drawing the attention of her sister Slayer for the first time. "Let me get this straight; Angel was supposed to have a baby, but now it's too late. This kid was supposed to kill Sarjhin -"

"Sahjhan."

"But now I have to. You can't give me my memory back _because _of 'that which I must destroy', so to recover my memory I have to kill Sahjan, and to know to kill Sahjan I have to recover my memory?"

"I have told you all I can. Your sorceress has much power. If her spell has proceeded correctly, some trace of the destiny that has been imparted upon you will stay with you. _That_ will allow you to kill Sahjan, and _that_ will return to you your memories."

"And if it doesn't?" she asked sceptically. "If 'my sorceress' fails; what then? What about my memories? Am I just going to _forget _again?"

The first Slayer began to fade, shaking her head as she did so. "I wish you luck, Slayer."

"Wait," Buffy begged the opaque figure. "You haven't given me enough information. What do I do? How will I remember? When do I -"

A flash of lightning ripped impossibly across the sky of her prison, and Buffy Summers; Slayer, fell away.

* * *

Buffy opened her eyes; the action was more tasking than it sounded, her eyes feeling like they had been stuck together with some sort of industrial adhesive.

"Buffy?" the shy witch – Tara – said her name, searching for some sort of response. She didn't speak like the rest of them, like she expected to be recognised. There was hope flickering brightly in her eyes, but there was also a layer of wisdom floating in the murky depths that told her that they both knew it was unfounded.

"Yeah. Hey... Tara?"

Tara smiled. "Hey. I'll just go get everyone," she stood to leave, then paused, eyeing Buffy critically, "Uh..."

Following her gaze, Buffy examined herself and bed-sheets. Her arms were covered with symbols and malodorous substances, and some sort of colourful dust had settled on her pyjamas. "I uh, I might have a shower first."

"Alright, I'll... I'll send everyone up when you're done."

Buffy nodded, shaking off the feeling – certainly not for the first time – that she had forgotten something important.

* * *

With trepidation, Buffy made her way downstairs. The ever expectant glances from Willow agitated her and suddenly the huge hotel was much too constricting.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry," she gushed, rushing over. "I didn't mean to put you in danger. I swear, I just... Did it... Work?"

"Did what work?" Buffy snapped. "You never actually _told_ me what you were doing before you tied me down for a nice restrained bed-time story."

Willow looked injured by Buffys' tone – she had only been trying to help. "It was supposed to help you remember things. Do you remember anything?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Well, maybe if you saw everyone again it could help, I'll call them – _Dawn!_" Willow called out to her adopted sister and the pitch of her voice made Buffy flinch. Not stopping to see anyone, she rushed past Willow.

"No. I'm going for a walk, to clear my head," she mumbled to Willow as she passed through the door and the cleansing sunlight washed over her.

* * *

She didn't know how vampires could stand it; not being in the sun. She really couldn't. She knew that Angel was over two hundred years old, and the thought of living without the warm rays of light that bathed and renewed her made eternal living seem more like eternal torment.

_Speaking of torment_, she thought, spotting the Wolfram & Hart firm as she trudged down the poorly lit street.

Buffy made a mental note to ask when they could soonest start attacking the first of Wolfram & Harts' clientele – her impromptu reunion with friends and family that she didn't remember having temporarily distracted her from all thoughts of a Wolfram & Hart variety.

Pressing the rewind button on recent memories, she pondered her brief decision to return to Sunnydale. That was a perfectly reasonable plan: she could still fight demons there whilst Angel Investigations held their front in L.A. Why should she stay? There was no one here for her that wouldn't return to Sunnydale with her anyway. No one that wouldn't lose their soul if they touched on the tiniest bit of bliss.

"Hello..." she said to herself, a more-than-moderately inhuman figure stalking a young man and catching her eye. Edging closer, Buffy gripped her stake. This wasn't a vampire, but she had so far found few things that could easily recover from a thick piece of wood plunged through their torso or limbs.

Upon closer investigation, Buffy knew what it was – Lilah had shown her the pictures a thousand times over. It was a Lei-Ach demon, a once proud warrior race. Though the numbers dwindled and most of them were forced to take desperate measures to stay alive – praying on the weak and elderly, retirement homes and hospitals being their restaurants of choice (their favourite dish, the marrow sucked from human bones) – or relocation to more demon-friendly areas, there was a clan of them living in the city under Wolfram & Harts' generous protection. Buffy realised now that this was probably because they would provide their own violent services in exchange for peaceful – on their end – habitation.

Although it probably seemed like parasitism to some, Buffy knew that Wolfram & Hart would benefit from the alliance just as much as the Lei-Ach would. These demons really knew how to kill. They were the big, ugly, deformed-clown-resembling bringers of death.

Buffy's heart pounded in her chest as she broke into a sprint to reach the demon before it pounced onto the young boy.

"Hey, Big Ugly," she called pelting the nearest object available at its' head, which just so happened to me a hefty lump of aggregated gravel. "Wanna dance?"

The demon twisted its' head around at a sickening angle to address (or, more accurately, decapitate) the person who had just pelted the hard object at his head, distracting his prey enough that the pale teenage boy was able to sprint hysterically down the street and into the nearest available taxi.

The Lei-Ach grunted in agitation and charged towards Buffy.

"Slayer," it exclaimed, it's unfamiliarity with the sibilance of the language ensuring that the word sounded like 'Ghsleyghr' when it was said.

Buffy was too quick, pre-empting its' strike: her powerful legs allowed her to bound over the demon and deliver her ankle onto its' torso. She had however, miscalculated the height of the red and white demon, which seized her ankles and swung her to the ground, smashing her face into the ground. She felt her nose break when it came into contact with the rough, concrete sidewalk. Thanking the higher powers for Slayer healing speed, she tried to ignore the blood flooding her face as if her nose were a broken water pipe.

"That was really inconsiderate." She spat blood at it, drawing backwards and calculating possible lines of attack. "I don't even know where_ your_ nose is. Does that seem fair?"

This demon didn't seem to appreciate her jibes as much as her friendly neighbourhood vampires did. It mimicked her circular pace and the two swerved and dodged each other for thirty seconds before Buffy was able to land her fist solidly onto its' face.

"There, found it," she smirked, following the punch with a high kick to her opponents' torso as planned before. Not so easily beaten, the Lei-Ach pushed forward onto her leg and attempted to twist it. This was for Buffy, an overused attempt at gaining the upper-hand, and she pivoted to forcefully snatch her right leg from the demons' grasp.

Spinning round fully, the demon dug its' nails into the top of Buffys' arm and sliced downwards until it reached her elbow.

"Ow!" Buffy exclaimed, her temper flaring. "Okay,_ now_ I'm mad."

Usually happy to oblige some sparring before a fatal blow, Buffy lost her temper and ran towards a nearby alley wall, running up it and kicking herself off so that she landed on top of the Lei-Ach. With a satisfying_ crack_, she snapped its' neck and bounded off of it so as not to tumble to the ground or become entangled in its' limbs.

Incidentally facing the right direction at the right time, Buffy caught sight of a shifty-looking figure stalking off into a limousine. What a stupid thing to do; as if Buffy could mistake that limousine. Unable to catch up in time, she watched Lilah Morgan dial a number and talk quickly into the phone, snapping it shut dramatically after about twenty seconds. Glimpsing over at the dead demon one last time, Lilah met Buffys' eye. Without hesitance, she smirked broadly and stepped into the limousine. What she had to smirk about, Buffy wasn't sure. But – as surely as her nose hurt like hell, Slayer healing or not – she had a feeling she was going to find out.

There was something at the back her mind; an itch. It was something, barely waiting to be uncovered, but she didn't know what it was. It might have started with an 'S'. S... Si... Sah-something...

No, wait, maybe it was a 'B'.

* * *

There we go. I didn't want to deviate from the canon completely, so if you've seen Angel season 3 you'll know that Connor was born because of an ancient prophecy that meant he would rise to kill Sahjhan.  
I know that traditionally Buffy had to go on a desert quest to seek out the first Slayer, but the appearance here was more as a figure that provided guidance on behalf of The Powers (pick specifically because she was someone whom Buffy had sought guidance from before), rather than the actual first Slayer journey seen in season 5 of Buffy. I know it's all a little vague, but everything will be explained in the next few chapters.  
I hope you enjoyed this. If you liked it, a comment would be amazing. I crave feedback.


	18. Home

Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews, alerts and favourites. This story now has over 200 reviews, so I'm ecstatic. Thank you all, so much. I'm glad people are still enjoying this. I'm on holidays at the moment, so I'm updating more frequently.  
I got a new computer, so I don't have to worry about not being able to post for ages or losing my files = happy.  
As always, read and enjoy!

* * *

Tara and Angel sat on Buffy's bed, cleaning up the mess Willow had made, and the mess Tara had made cleaning up Willow's mess. Angel handed her a bone Willow had used in her spell, supressing shudder at the thought of the possibile outcomes if Tara hadn't been there. The two cleaned up, neither feeling the need to fill the pregnant pauses that ensued after the necessary was said.

Angel accepted the plastic bag full of soot and bones that Tara passed him, observing the well-hidden anguish in her eyes. He stood up and aimed it towards the bin in the corner, into which it swiftly landed.

"Was Willow..." he began hesitantly, resuming his seat, "How long has Willow been like this?"

Tara averted her gaze. She still felt like she was betraying a secret by talking about Willow's - and by extension she and Willow's - problems. "H-Her first year of college we started practicing. It's... It's how we met," Tara blushed at the memory of their first few spells together. "She was amazing... It didn't take long, until she was better than me."She spoke slowly, analysing every word before she allowed it to be released into the air. "She was fine until Buffy d -"

Tara stopped this time, not because of her stutter, but because of the stone-cold look that was almost carved onto Angels' face.

"And then when it was just us; j-just Willow, Xander, Anya, Giles and I, and we had to take care of Dawn, and she started solving all her problems with magicks when she didn't know what to do."

"She got addicted," Angel stated.

"Yeah. It started with the spell to bring Buffy - well, that didn't work, or, we thought it didn't, and it was such a p-powerful spell. And then everything got... Got out of hand. That's when I left. And -"

"It got worse after that?"

Tara nodded weakly and Angel gave her a sympathetic smile, the mess at hand laying unattended.

"I don't know what to do," Tara whispered into her lap. She wasn't usually so open with strangers, but neither was he.

"When Buffy died, some part of me felt like... Like it was her fault," Angel admitted gustily, the weight of his confession lifting off his shoulders. "She jumped off a tower in place of her sister, but she had no idea whether or not her blood would have definitely saved those people, not really... And she did it anyway. I never said it to anyone, but I blamed her," his voice broke on verb and he halted to regather his thoughts.

Tara sat and waited for him to continue.

"I wasn't there," he said, the total stillness of his tone more unsettling to Tara than the shattered grief overwhelming it before. "So I couldn't have known. I felt like she was giving up everything she was. Everything she taught me. She didn't fight, she surrendered. I felt like somehow, that undermined everything I had accomplished because of her. It took me so long to even begin to make up for everything that I had done; and I started to because of Buffy."

Tara felt the need to vouch for her friends' actions. "But sh-she thought it would work, and she just wanted to save Daw-"

Angel shook his head, not disagreeing what he was saying, but to cease internal chatter. "No, I know, I know that. Somehow I know that, but it still feels like -"

"Like she was leaving you?"

"Yeah," Angel forfeited as he rested his forehead in his hands. "I was so angry with her for leaving me, even though I left her first. Even though I knew she wasn't mine anymore, I was still so angry."

The words he spat out were choked with abhorrence. "God, I can't even describe it. I was distraught... Grief-stricken, but when they told me she jumped, a million thoughts went through my head. I wondered if she had thought she would be moving onto something better, or if she did it because she had nothing left to lose: whether she knew her blood would work or not, she would have rather died for the possibility of saving the world than definitely losing her sister. All those years, she never stopped fighting..."

"And then she did," Tara said softly.

Angel nodded. "When I came to Sunnydale after it happened, I stood on her grave. Knowing she was under all that dirt; thinking that maybe she was happier there, it killed me. Do you know why it killed me?

"Because I had no control over it. There was this person that, sometimes unintentionally, shaped everything I did, and a strong part of who I am. And I had no control over her, because I thought she wanted something..." Angel struggled to find the right word. "... Darker... for herself. I know it sounds irrational, and I know that she did what she did for the right reasons, but I felt so powerless. Like, maybe if I'd done something differently, or, at all. Maybe if I'd been there..."

Angel turned to face Tara more fully. "I understand what it's like, with no control over the person you love more than anything. Hell, I still know..." he trailed off. "I guess I was trying to say – probably in too many words, which, trust me, isn't usually my problem – that I understand what it's like; feeling like in their grand scheme, you don't matter to them. Feeling the anger, the pain and the blame."

"What do I do?" Tara whispered it weakly; it was a child-like plea.

All traces of self-pity were gone from Angels' eyes when he began to talk again. All the glassy emotions were overshadowed by a bright fire, burning strong.

"Do you love her?"

Tara replied without thought. "Yes."

Angel shifted a fraction closer, summing her up. "Is that enough?"

Her instincts cautioned her and told her to back away from the vampire, but she held strong in her uncertainty. "I don't know."

"Do you think you can help her?"

Tara sighed. "I used to, but I feel like this is something she's got to do for herself."

Murmuring and clattering echoed up the stairway and into the halls, but it was paid no mind by neither party. "If Willow brings herself back from this, can you get over it?"

"I hope so."

Angel picked up the bag of magick supplies that needed disposing of. "If she can... Get herself down off that tower, there are two ways it can go, and it's your call. Both of your calls."

Tara gulped. "What are they?"

Angel looked down at her sadly with eyes filled with years of sorrowful wisdom. "You can either put it behind you, or six feet underneath. You just can't hold on."

Tara smiled half-heartedly and Angel bowed his head to her, muttering something as he left the room. She wasn't sure, but it almost sounded like;

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

* * *

Willow felt like she was back at Sunnydale High, walking along and listening to Buffy describe her encounter with whatever Big Bad she had run into the night before. The only thing missing was Giles.

"- And, creepiest part, it called me 'Slayer'. It knew who I was," Buffy described, flailing her arms around as the group including Xander, Willow, Dawn, Anya, Wesley, Angel, Cordelia and Gunn (with Fred and Tara discussing ways of combining their magick and science and insisting on staying at the Hotel) skulked down the street in search of demons to fight or people to save.

"Ow!" Buffy exclaimed as her foot rammed into the metal lid of a bin carelessly thrown onto the ground. Okay, so maybe not skulking, but there was at least a definite vibe. It was... irksome, to say the very least.

Buffy picked up the lid with some annoyance as everyone else inspected the cause of her outburst. "Can't people put their trash lids in the... trash?" she asked in annoyance.

"Well, they try, but since there's no lid to keep the designated 'Lid Bins' overflowing with bin lids lidded, they tend to escape. Plus, those puppies can _roll_, and then of course there's your standard, run of the mill illegal lid racing; stealer of funds and ruiner of lives, boy, the good times do not roll for _those_ poor suckers," babbled Xander, of whom everyone was staring at with much amusement.

"Were you always like that?" Buffy asked, a teasing smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Xander bowed regally. "Xander, the one and only, long time pal of the Buffster and -"

"- Long time headcase," Dawn finished in a matter-of-factly tone.

"Hey!" Xander opposed.

Anya snatched the bin lid from Buffy's hands. "I think that's a hup-cap."

Now it was Buffy's turn to say, "Hey!"

"A, uh... Hup-cap, sweetie?" Xander checked uncertainly.

"You know; the things on car wheels? I was watching daytime television while you were all going crazy about Buffy being unconscious and they were talking about four for two deals on hup-caps,"

"You mean hub-caps?" Gunn said, not yet as competent as everyone else at shutting Anya out when she went on a long spiel.

"- In between the infomercials about all those skin diseases," she continued, paying no mind to the correction. "You know the people in those before shots? I can promise you that not one_ of _them actually has acne. Acne is a stupid, human way to cover up hexes." Anya lifted her chin proudly. "Besides, I hexed half of them anyway when I was a vengeance demon.

"And the remedies! Just Warlocks trying to play in the big leagues. Seven day treatment my ex-demon power centre, those are eternal hexes. There's a reason they only come back in for one interview; the fungus would have come back within a week, and if they try to get rid of 'em again, that's when the bubos appear -"

"Okay, Ahn, we get the message. No more daytime television," Xander interrupted hastily, ignoring the confused look Buffy was sending him. "And uh, Buffy, that's not exactly unusual. The demon knowing your name, not the hup - hub-cap or the hexes, or the... bubos..." Xander looked nostalgic. "Anyone else miss Sunnydale?"

"... Yeah, I guess it's normal." Buffy sighed, "For the bizarro world that is my life,"

"See, you're catching on already!" said Willow enthusiastically. "Go team Buffy!"

Buffy studied herself self-consciously, pouting. "You think I'm a whole team?"

Wesley stifled laughter unsuccessfully, covering his mouth under the pretence a poorly disguised cough. "I feel so much older," he stated lightly.

"No," Cordy interrupted, "That's not right. The Demon thing recognising Buffy. The Buffy-Bot is still up and running, right?"

"Buffy-bot?"

"Uh, yeah it is, and I'll explain it later Buffy," Willow told her friend.

It took a second before she understood what Cordelia was referring to. "Oh!" she exclaimed, raising her hand as if in a classroom - a force of habit far too deeply ingrained for any of her friends to remedy, "I get it. Because they wouldn't know that Buffy was here. Well, have you made any enemies since you... Came to L.A.?" Willow asked her.

Buffy shot a nervous glance at Angel, and they both cleared their throats. "Well..."

* * *

"Well what?" Lilah spat at Adam, who sat innocently on his chair staring at his top-of-the-line computer.

"Have you taken care of it? Is the Slayer dead? Which would be a pity, by the way," he added, not drawing his eyes away from the screen, "Because I rather liked her."

"No," she huffed and leaned against his desk. "Not yet. She killed the Lei-Ach."

Adam whistled, drowning out the repetitive clicks of the mouse that he knew grated on Lilah's nerves. "Wow, that little thing killed a Lei-Ach? She sustain any injuries?"

Lilah sneered, unimpressed by his attitude. "No. The Lei-Ach wasn't the real test, though. She has no idea what's coming." Lilah threw a file down onto Adams' keyboard. Adam picked it up and skimmed through it. It was a standard form:

'**_APP__LICATION FOR _**

_sub-terrestrial/extra-terrestrial/vampire/demon (please circle applicable and provide offices with details on form attached to back):  
Request for sole funding from W&H_

_Reason for funding (please tick the boxes below most applicable to your cause): _

_[ ] genocide:_

_[ ] political takeover:_

_[ ] reality alteration (please consult Cyrus Vail & affiliates before submitting form):_

_[x] alteration of prophecy_

_[ ] needed for prophetic fulfilment (please reference form 389.7A; Pertinence of Prophecy to Greater Evil and 389.7B; Your Prophecy and You) _

_Other:_________________'_

Adams' interest perked and he unstuck his eyes from the screen filled with demon profiles Lilah had demanded he locate for her and read through the colourful description and history the demon had provided on the opposite side of the sheet. "This one sounds like the best applicant for your Slayer problem. What are you going to do?"

Lilah leaned down and pointed one, thin finger at the demon at the bottom left of the screen, ignoring Adam's flinching as her nail damaged the pixels. She pulled out her mobile and dialled the number underneath it with a triumphant smirk.

'_Sahjan'_, the header read.

"I'm going to do what I do best."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Xander clarified disbelievingly, "Buffy bunked with an evil lawyer who pretended to be her watcher. This chick fed her a big serving of Slayer-sauce and changed the recipe, then got her to try and kill him?" he jabbed his thumb towards Angel.

"That's the gist of it, yes," Wesley replied.

"Okaay," Xander began ever so coolly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet, "Who do I mail the cheque to?"

Angel glared at Xander, but Wesley and Willow had no time for their petty squabbles. "What do we do now?" Willow asked the room.

Dawn looked around nervously, fearing reproach. "I don't mean to sound like a party pooper, 'cause God knows I love being here way better than survival one-oh-one on the Sunny school of the Hellmouth, but don't you think - thinkin' about what's best for Buffy, that is - that we should uh," she laughed nervously in the face of everyones' undivided attention. "Take her home?"

"Excuse me?" Buffy chimed in, elevating her left hand. "Still here. Hoping to help with all the decision-y choices."

All eyes turned from Dawn to Buffy; some expectant, some concerned.

"Well, Buffy..." Willow addressed her with a questionable tone that she had never used before when talking to her best friend. "What do you want to do?"

Buffy paused. What did she want to do? Days beforehand she had been certain of her departure, certain that she needed to escape the borrowed life she had begun to like far too much. It had become obvious to her that this was not her city. She knew that she and the Vampire had parted ways before, and she - and everyone around her - had started to accept the possibility that her memory may not return to her.

L.A. hadn't been her home for a long time, and as much as she wished she could stay in the City of Angels, it was painfully ephemeral. She should have realised sooner, but she had enjoyed the sense of belonging that Angel Investigations' familial ties provided her so easily.

Buffy had to accept that she wasn't allowed to pick up where she left off. Her mother wouldn't come back, neither would her old life. Life had moved forward without her, and it was time to start catching up. She had left Angel once before, and regardless of what she thought she felt for him, she could do it again.

"I think it's time to go... Home."

Dawn lit up, Willow grinned and even Tara seemed to be relieved about their impending departure.

"Don't take this personally," Xander said to Angel, "But I've never been more thrilled by the thought of never having to see an animated corpse again.

"Actually, you know what? You can go ahead and take that personally."

Angel scowled, but held his tongue. Buffy was leaving. It _was_ far past her time. She had been here for long enough; it wasn't her home. It had never been her home.

Willow fiddled with her hands, keeping her sight trained on Buffy. Her embarrassment over her failed spell was tantamount and she had been too afraid to talk to Tara or Angel. Although he had seemed calm enough, Willow didn't want to push Angel or remind him of the fact that she had endangered His Buffy. Not yet was hope extinguished that the effects of the spell were simply delayed, and any moment now Buffy would yell 'Wills!' and pull her into a bone-crushing hug.

Then, she promised herself, everything would be alright again.

"What time should we take off, Buff? Betcha can't wait to see the Hellmouth's big ol' Slayerly Welcome Home. Between the nachos, dip and Twister with real life head-twisting, it'll have your memory ticking in no time."

"As soon as possible, probably," Buffy shrugged offhandedly, ascending the stairs to her room. "I haven't got a whole lot to pack. It'll take only take me a minute."

_"How long?" _

_"Another minute." _

_"A minute! No, no, it's not enough time!" _

Angel's mind flashed to the day that, to everyone else, never actually happened. In that lifetime a minute was their death sentence. Now, here, time was abundant and departure of no consequence to her. He watched her ascend the stairs with a nostalgic feeling like the one he had felt whilst he tried on his suit for her graduation day. The suit that had felt like a funeral suit.

* * *

It was just a wall. A plain, grey wall. There was absolutely nothing special about it. Judging from the cracks that spread and multiplied like veins across it, there was probably nothing good about it either. So why did it feel good? Why, with every item of clothing she folded and shoved into her small, black bag, did she have to ward off a desire to hug this wall? Sing out these windows? Dance in these halls? Hold the people who had taken her in, regardless of her behaviour, and never let them go?  
It was a hotel Buffy was leaving. She had watched more people exit those doors in the last month than she had met altogether. She had known, as early as when her parents were happily married in LA, that everything had to come to an end; everyone left, everyone died, everything fades, but what she hadn't been aware of was that the broken-down hotel had become something very different to her during her stay, without her knowledge. Something that, as she stared pointlessly at those multiple minute cracks in that plain, grey wall, she was able to put a name to:

Home.

* * *

Buffy descended the stairs with nothing but a small, black bag in hand. Even with the lone bag firmly supported by her unusual strength, her shoulders felt heavy; her impending departure - good in some ways, not so in others - weighed down on her with considerable force. It seemed to her like she was trading one mystery life for another: goodbye mysterious Angel, hello mysterious Sunnydale friends.

"I'm pretty much ready to go now," she told everyone in the vicinity.

"Awesome," said Xander, meaning it. "Let's get Sunnydale bound... I never thought I'd say that."

"Yes, let's leave the weirdly moral vampire and awkward silences," Anya agreed.

Angel crinkled his brow defensively, but said nothing. Buffy walked down the stairs with ringing finality and turned to face everyone. She farewelled Wesley and Fred with kisses on their cheeks, Cordelia with a grateful nod and turned towards Gunn with an awkwardness that filled the room. She locked onto his gaze determinedly.

"Thank you... For everything. And," she smiled nervously, "I'm sorry."

Gunn returned her smile with shining sincerity. "It's cool and you're welcome... Hey, why 'Anne', anyway?"

Buffy grinned. "It's my middle name."

"I always wondered."

"Well, now you know," Buffy kissed him on the cheek and stepped to her left to say goodbye for Angel. The whole room looked on expectantly to see how they would interact.

"Well, bye," Buffy mumbled, blushing slightly.

"Goodbye Buffy." Angel smiled crookedly, his chocolate eyes boring into hers. So subtly that if everyone hadn't been watching like hawks they would have missed it, Angel gently brushed his fingers against the back of Buffys' hand.

"I never had a chance there, did I?" Gunn whispered to Cordelia.

"Not in this life," she replied. "Or the next. Or the next. If Buffy got reincarnated as someone made to love you, maybe,"

"I got the message," he replied with a small smile. "Buffy and Angel: not good to mess with."

"Only if you really like your limbs."

Buffy and Angel parted abruptly as they sensed the burning eyes on them. Without a word she began to walk away, and after everyone had bid each other farewell the newly reunited Scoobies exited the Hyperion.

Willow was at the back of the group, and before she walked out into the sunlight Angel pulled her to the side. "If she gets better or worse, or even if nothing happens, can you keep me updated?"

Willow smiled, glad that the vampire wasn't angry as she thought. "Of course, Angel."

"Thank you. And Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"If you try anything like that spell again, you won't have a hand left to cast with."

Willow gulped, acknowledging to herself that she deserved that. "I won't. Bye, Angel."

"Goodbye Willow."

As Willow left the building, she couldn't help but wonder: if Angel hadn't been enough to bring Buffy's memory back, what would? Only time would tell. That was what she was most afraid of.

Willow glanced to her right in acknowledgement of a frighteningly familiar noise, glimpsing a small blob of moving green in the bushes.

Okay, that and frogs.

* * *

Thanks for reading! My favourite part to write was Angel and Tara's bonding session; they both needed to unload their emotions so badly - Angel most of all. I liked writing some Anya too, because I don't get to do it that often. I don't really have a lot to say about this chapter because it was all pretty self-explanatory. Wolfram & Harts' forms; I always imagined them giving some sort of stiff, formal 'circle what applies to you' type thing, so I jumped at the chance to actually do one. It's lame, but that's how I envisioned it.  
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you liked it. Reviews = happy.


	19. Leading and Learning

**Authors Note: **I've just come back from 5 very long days of internetless camping, so you guys whose stories I'm pretty consistent in commenting etc, I'll look through and try to find your updates and don't be offended if I don't comment.  
Almost to Chapter 20! As per usual, thank you everyone for the alerts, reviews and favourites.  
I know a few of you are hankering for some Buffy/Angel action, and I promise it will come, hang in there with me. I can't just make Buffy rush off to L.A. and throw herself at him without any logical basis, so I'm workin' up to it.  
As always, read and enjoy.

* * *

Buffy, Dawn, Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara huddled in front of the people-mover Xander had borrowed from a friend to bring everyone to L.A., showing no signs of leaving any time soon.

"I wanna drive," Buffy insisted.

"I don't know," replied Xander uncertainly, shielding the car from potential damage. "It's not my car, and your history with cars is about the same as your history with demons..." Xander paused, considering his words, "Actually, 'slain' might be considered a generous term for what you did to some of them."

Buffy pouted. "Why can't I at least try? This car isn't exactly built for speed."

It wasn't her fault. Buffy didn't know the overpowering effect that her pout had always had on him, even after all romantic feelings had subsided; much the same as the Willow resolved-face, he held no resistance. Xander glanced sideways at Willow with a bemused expression. "Do you remember how badly she wanted to drive when she was sixteen?"

Willow laughed. "Yeah, I remember." Willow directed her gaze towards Buffy. "Nothing except the point of recovery in your memory has changed, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she said to Xander, "Then she'll still be as awful at driving as she was before."

"She was pretty bad," agreed Dawn.

"Hey!" Buffy argued. "I might not be awful!"

Xander cocked an eyebrow. "Is your name still Buffy?"

"Yeah..."

"Then it's a statistical certainty that you're still awful."

Anya nodded vigorously. "They would often laugh about how terrible you were."

Tara looked apologetic. "Y-you were pretty bad in your first year of college."

"Some friends," Buffy huffed, crossing her arms.

"Aw, Buff, don't take it to heart," Xander said, his tone sobering.

"Yeah, maybe when you're older," Willow stumbled over the word, disliking the condescension that accompanied it. "I mean, more mature. I mean, if you get your memory back."

"And if I don't?"

Willow beamed and offered her a resolution. "Then we'll get you a... A new car! That you can crash - drive, all you want."

"Hey!" said Dawn. "You said you'd buy _me_ a car!"

"Summers' cars all around," said Xander with very little enthusiasm.

"May we please go home now? I'd like to get back to my store."

"Okay Ahn." Xander wrapped an arm around her affectionately. "So Buff, you already called shot gun?"

"You can't bribe me with closeness and pleasant odours," Anya told him sternly. "Take me home Xander."

"Pleasant odours?"

"Shot gun!" Dawn yelled, pulling open the front door.

"Hey!" Buffy exclaimed this time. "Xander said I could have the front seat!"

"Nu-uh." Dawn poked out her tongue, "He asked if you had already called it."

"I don't care if you're my sister, I'll still slay you," Buffy threatened, proceeding to grab the brunette by the waist and begin tickling her.

"Xander!" Dawn pleaded in between giggles. "H-Help! She's... Slaying... Me!"

"Funny, vampires aren't usually so good-natured about it," replied Xander, opening the front door and hopping into the drivers seat.

"Shot gun!" Willow shouted in Xanders' direction, heaving herself into the front seat.

"All witches, mystical keys, Slayers and ex-demons please proceed into the vehicle and fasten seat-belts," Xander shouted, honking the horn for effect and pretending he was speaking into a little microphone.

Buffy granted Dawn reprieve and, with a disappointed glance at the occupied front seat, hopped into the back.

"Ex-demons? Mystical keys?" she queried.

Xander shook his head. "We'll explain later."

Dawn placed herself into the seat next to Buffy with a deliberate, teasing shove. Buffy looked at her challengingly. "Do you really want to mess with me_, sis_?"

Dawn folded her arms and held her head high, telling Buffy cockily; "I could take you."

"The Sunnydale Express is leaving the station," Xander told everyone in the car, putting the car into gear and pulling out from in front of the Hyperion.

"That's trains, Xand," Willow told him kindly.

"Ah, spoil all my fun."

* * *

"We've got a problem," Wesley told his colleagues. "There are five reported sightings of nesting Lei-Ach's encroaching on suburban areas."

"Tunnels?" asked Angel, handing a crossbow to Cordelia.

"Three; two involve subjection to sunlight, but one is situated under a sheltered veranda that should allow you to manoeuvre below the nest until," Wesley pointed to a specific point on the map he had pinned to the wall, "You should be able to break through here.

"Fred, Gunn, Cordelia and I will make our way around the east quadrant where the structure is most vulnerable and should allow an effortless entry," he continued indicating entrance and attack points on the map as his friends looked on with wrapped attention. "Where will proceed to attack the demons. There are at least seven of them. Try to beware their hand to hand ski -"

Wesley's words of advice fell on otherwise occupied ears as the seven Lei-Achs' in question ploughed through the windows.

"Why can't they just use the door?" Angel commented with distress, watching his newly repaired windows shatter once again.

"I think we've got bigger problems than your windows," Gunn shouted over the cacophony of battle cries that filled the air. "Like their hand to hand ski's," he teased, jumping into the fight.

Ignoring the jibe, Wesley quickly drew a sword and went to battle. "Decapitation is the best option!" he yelled. "Their torso's are quite tough, it's -" he swung his sword at an approaching demon, who receded momentarily in response before lunging forward, "- best to go for the head!"

* * *

"So, what's my house like?" Buffy asked the car in an attempt to relieve her boredom. "Am I living a small, compact life of desolate Slayerdom or do we have a Mystery Machine Van like Scooby Doo and a crazy, whacked out pad to match?"

"Our house," Dawn corrected. "And it's nice. Two story. We don't have to share a bedroom anymo - anyway."

"Do I have some kind of training room? At Angels' I had a training room. Not," she amended, "That I'm trying to compare you guys to Angel, I just mean that I'm used to training at home."

"No, but there's The Magic Box," Willow told her as they passed a sign telling them that Sunnydale was growing very close.

"The Magic Box?"

"It's a local magic shop owned by Gile -" Willow corrected herself when Anya cleared her throat loudly. "Anya. There's a back room that you train in. We set it up for you. It's close to home."

"Could you guys drop me off here?" Tara asked as they passed her dorm rooms.

"Sure," said Xander, obligingly pulling over just outside the gates into Tara's dorm. Tara swiftly opened her car door and sped out, trying to seem casual in what was obviously a desperate escape. Willow tried to hide the hurt on her face when Tara waved to them all collectively and thanked Xander for the ride.

"Thanks for coming with us, really," Xander said, poking Buffy discreetly, who then thanked her sincerely for all of her help. With one last nod of her head, Tara was enveloped by the shrubbery and wrought iron gates.

"I really messed things up," Willow mumbled to herself. Xander, not inclined to disagree, decided to save that particular conversation for a more appropriate forum and simply kept his eyes trained on the road ahead.

"Are we there yet?" Dawn whined. "I'm all cramped."

"You actually _say_ that?" Buffy interjected disbelievingly. "What are you, five?"

"What are _you_, fifty?"

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"How about you both be quiet so that I can hear my thoughts," Anya suggested. "I'm imagining Xander naked."

Willow looked like she was trying to prevent both uproarious laughter and vomit. "That's great, Anya."

Anya leaned forward towards Willow. "Just because you're a raging lesbian, doesn't mean we all are."

"Amazingly enough, I picked up on that," retorted Willow.

"Okay, both of you be quiet," Xander commanded as he skidded to a halt in front of an unseen red light. "I can't hear myself think."

"Are you imagining me naked?" Anya wanted to know.

"That's neither here nor there," replied Xander, pressing his foot down a little too hard. The car accelerated with a sudden jerk when the light turned green and the passengers rubbed their pained necks.

"He's imagining me naked," Anya whispered sideways to Dawn smugly.

Dawn kept her eyes on the road, turning away any and all thoughts Anya's comment inspired. It was getting dark; she wondered how long they would be stuck on the road for.

"... Are we there yet?"

* * *

Angel and his team stumbled through the broken glass and demon fluids that tainted his newly-polished floor. Angel stared sadly up at one of many of his broken windows. "Do you think insurance covers this?"

Wesley coughed, wiping his brow and accidentally smearing demon plasma onto it. With a groan, he said; "Angel, you don't have insurance."

Angel kept his eyes on the window, staring wistfully out at the moon through the jagged, bloodied hole. "Damn."

"You really should get some," Cordy said, ducking behind the counter to provide the group with towels. "Insurance, not sex."

"Yeah, I got it." Angel bent down, examining the least mutilated demon. Angel _had_ managed to shove a sword through the torso of this one, but not without injuries of his own. He flinched as his knee protested to the strain he put on it when he tried to stand up again. No symbols or talismans that he could see on them explained the reason for the attack. "One of them said something before Wesley attacked it."

"I dunno, it didn't sound like much," Gunn commented, gathering up all the weapons flung across the room. "Maybe he was just tryin' to make friends."

"No, he definitely said something. It sounded like 'ghsleyghr'."

"Do you think that could be somethin' from a demon language? I could cross reference origins and sibilance," Fred began excitedly, forgetting about the sword in her hands and almost slicing Wesleys' abdomen. "Oh! Sorry!" she apologised, dropping the sword and flinging her arms around him.

"That's okay... All better," replied Wesley, returning the embrace.

"I think it was saying 'Slayer'. It could have been looking for Buffy. I mean, that explains why it kept trying to get past us."

"Or maybe it was trying to get, you know, through us?" Gunn suggested, cringing as he flicked a hefty glob of demon slime from his arm.

"Angel?" Cordy walked over to him cautiously. "You know I love you, so don't bite me for this, but do you think you could be channelling your inherent desire to bring Buffy back, and inventing a reason to call her for fear of losing her again?"

"Yes," replied Angel brusquely. "But that doesn't mean that that thing didn't say 'Slayer'. Are those Lei-Achs', Wes?"

"Yes," Wesley affirmed, his answer muffled slightly by Fred, who was still wrapped around him.

"Those are the demons that attacked Buffy before; the ones that she said knew who she was." Angel headed towards the front desk and picked up the phone. "I have to call her. They could be heading for Sunnydale."

"The only place these things are headin' is the morgue," said Gunn. Then, considering his comment; "I mean, if there was a demon morgue."

Cordy, still behind the desk, pressed the 'end' button as soon as Angel picked up the phone. She held down the button, not allowing him to receive anything except a dial tone and the sympathetic look she shot him.

"You can't call her, Angel. She needs to get her own life back on track. She doesn't need to be sitting around worrying about you."

Angel quashed the annoyance that rose in him as he calmly replied; "I'm not calling her so that she can worry about me, I'm calling her because I think these things were after her."

Cordelia shrugged. "I'm sure she's fine. She can take care of herself, and you do kind of," she glanced at Wesley and Gunn, begging for some re-enforcement, "Have a history of... Being slightly over-protective where Buffy's concerned," she gushed, the words tumbling out of her mouth in her haste to put them out into the open.

Wesley obliged Cordelia's prompt, agreeing with her. "Buffy is a bit of a weakness for you. And with her death and... condition, it may just be that you fear losing her again."

Angel sighed, resisting the urge to stalk up the stairs and ignore them all for several days. "Of course I'm scared of losing her again, but that doesn't mean_ those demons didn't say it_. I am just going to _warn_ her, so she can be on guard." He addressed Cordelia next, begging for understanding. "I'm not asking her to come back. I'm telling her this so she's_ prepared_."

"For what, exactly?" Gunn cut in. "'Cause I'm seein' all this panic and no Big Bad in sight."

"I don't know. I just need her to be_... She_ needs to be prepared."

Cordy grasped his hand in an attempt to relieve the tension building. "She's the Slayer, Angel. She always needs to be prepared, with or without whatever demons just broke your windows and probably cut into my pay check. We all get that this is hard for you – saying goodbye to her again, but you need to let her go."

Angel nodded in a signal that the argument was over, placing the receiver back into its' cradle. He whispered so quietly that no one except Cordelia heard him; "I did."

* * *

Willow held the phone in her hands. She had dialled Tara's number too many times to count, and she was still no closer to working up the courage to press the receiver to her ear and formulating coherent sentences. Placing it back into the cradle, she assured herself that she had done what she had done in L.A. for the best and that, given enough time, Tara would see that too.

Willow sighed. Even in her mind, she was a bad liar.

_"Oh my God!"_

She was tugged out of her reverie by some sort of uproar in Buffy's room. Bounding off of what was formerly Joyce Summers' bed, Willow sprinted into her best friends' room to make sure that everything was okay, revising her prime spells for incapacitation as she went.

When Willow stumbled into the room, she was met with what was an entirely normal scene: Buffy was standing at the foot of her bed with Dawn beside her.

"Buffy?" said Willow. "What's wrong?"

Buffy span around and Willow was amused when she saw Mr. Gordo in her arms. "Nothing wrong, I just," she blushed, now embarrassed, "I'm glad to see Mr. Gordo, and I've sort of... Never had a double bed before."

Dawn glanced sidewards at her sister, failing to stifle a laugh. "It was the weirdest reaction I've ever seen to anything."

When Buffy moved from Willow to Dawn, Dawn continued with a friendly; "You're such a loser."

"Really? I'm new to the whole sibling-rivarly thing, but if TV taught me anything, it's that it's more acceptable for me to hurt you than it is anyone else."

Dawn was out of the room in an instant. "If you can catch me!"

Buffy seemed to weigh the alternatives, and in the end remained where she was. "She's kind of crazy, huh?" she said to Willow, who had not yet retreated back to Joyce's room for some quality time with the dial tone.

"Yeah," Willow chuckled with much more mirth than she felt, "She is."

Buffy smiled. "I like her. In that bratty, sisterly way. Did she and my mom get along?"

"Yeah. You guys were like a real family."

Something akin to sadness worked its way onto Buffys' features. "That must have been nice for us."

"It was," Willow said earnestly. "Maybe you should take her out for some sisterly-bonding. She missed you a lot."

"That's a good idea," Buffy agreed, forwarding out. Before she was completely out of sight, however, she turned around and asked Willow something that had been bothering her ever since she found out that she had a life outside of L.A. "Willow?"

"Yeah, Buffy?"

Buffys' embarrassment was painted overtly on her face and she shuffled against the doorframe nervously. "Did I have a boyfriend?"

"Oh!" Willow was relieved that Buffys' question was one that she could answer simply. "Well... No."

Buffy, satisfied with this answer, walked down the stairs to find Dawn.

"_Dawn_!" Willow heard her call, "_Wanna go out for ice cream_?"

"_Did you get a new personality when you lost your memory_? ... _Ow_!"

Despite everything, Willow chuckled.

* * *

"If you need _anything_, please, don't hesitate to call this number," Lilah said, her face straining under the perpetual grin she presented. She passed her newest client several emergency numbers over the threshold, eager to get back to her office and attend to neglected paperwork.

"Thank you very much. I shall contact you once the Slayer and ensouled vampire are dead," replied Sahjhan. Pausing for a moment, he leaned forward, the dim hotel lights warping his features; he reminded Lilah of something she had seen in a horror movie once. Not that she didn't see that every day. "Say… The rest of the group; you don't need them alive, do you?" he asked hopefully.

Lilah receded towards the elevator, flashing a grin once again. "No, not in the slightest."

"Excellent!" Sahjhan rubbed his hands together pre-emptively. "That will be all."

"Oh," Lilah poked her head around the corner to face the other, much less talkative member of the apartment. "And you are… Satisfied with everything?"

"Yes," he returned the predatory grin Lilah sent him and she carefully hid her responsive shiver. "As always," he told her, his Southern accent becoming more pronounced, "With faith, The Lord does provide."

* * *

It was a lovely day outside, the kind of day an aspiring writer would write about; the kind of day they would set their first scene in: a peaceful, warm, happy day.

A day, the two sisters agreed, for ice cream.

"What do I like?" Buffy asked Dawn as she perused the list of overpriced and eccentrically named ice creams.

"I like cookies and cream," Dawn replied, directing this at the clerk.

"Yes," Buffy said impatiently, handing him a ten-dollar note, "But what do _I_ like?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

Dawn had been doing that all day; answering her question with another question. Buffy had so far been able to ascertain very little from Dawn when simply asking a direct question.

"I know what I liked then, but there are about a million new flavours here."

"Then go with a classic," Dawn suggested, accepting the ice cream handed to her with gusto.

"Are you ever going to answer a question without being evasive?"

"I figure you gotta get to know yourself again. Make your own choices," Dawn told her, the effect of her surprising wisdom somewhat ruined by the fact of her face being completely buried in her ice cream cone.

"Fine, but you know what I'm going to choose."

"Always did."

She sighed and waved her hand when the man in his ice cream van tried to hand Buffy her change. "Cookie dough fudge mint chip in a cone, please."

"You never get anything else," Dawn elaborated with a knowing smirk.

Buffy took her ice cream and the two meandered down the sunny street.

"So, what do you kids do for fun?" she asked, relishing the taste of her long-time favourite ice cream.

"There's this place called The Bronze. It's a club. The only club, actually. Sunnydale isn't really known for its' size."

"What _is_ it known for? There's gotta be some reason Mom moved here."

"It's escalated mortality rate."

"Ha ha," Buffy feigned laughter. "But really."

Dawn retained a serious tone. "I kid you not."

"That makes sense," said Buffy. "I'm getting serious wiggins from being in this town. Some Slayer sense," she turned towards Dawn with an excited look on her face. "Did you know I have Slayer senses?"

Dawn snorted. "No, I didn't pick up on it every time you knew how to save my life without me telling you where I was going in the first place."

"Oh. So, you get in a lot of trouble, then?" Buffy smirked and nudged her. "I save you a lot?"

"No!" Dawn protested, some of her ice cream flying out of her cone and onto the street where it was eagerly lapped up by a stray dog. "I mean, sometimes. I guess."

"Big sister Buffy, rushing in to save liiiittle helpless Dawnie," Buffy teased.

"I am _not_ helpless!" Dawn exclaimed angrily, memories of the tower and accompanying guilt rushing back to her.

"Wow," Buffy raised her hands as a sign of surrender. "Sorry."

"No, it's just… Never mind."

"Okay," replied Buffy, severely confused.

Minutes passed in silence as the beautiful day grew to seem slightly less beautiful in the face of such tension.

"On the plus side," said Dawn in an attempt to remedy her superb job of killing the mood, "I have a better sense of fashion."

"Hey, my sense of fashion is exc–" Buffy stopped mid-sentence, a flash of something rushing back to her. "Do I know someone called Sahjhan?"

"What's a Sar-jan? Your ex-boyfriends had some stupid names, but they were usually better than that."

"Sahjhan."

"Buffy, maybe you should sit down…" Dawn suggested. Her sister had seemed fine and Angel hadn't mentioned anything being wrong with her other than the obvious lack of memory.

"No," she said stubbornly. "I don't wanna sit down. I just…"

"Buffy, what is it?" Dawn asked with obvious concern.

"I think… I think I need to go back to L.A."

"L.A…? But we just got here. You just got home," Dawn tried to ignore feeling of rejection that sprung on her, turning her back on the waning sun and leading the pair towards Revello Drive.

There were only so many times that Buffy could leave before Dawn would explode. Would she explode? As the two walked back to the house in uncomfortable silence, she thought about it. Spontaneous combustion was a proven thing. Maybe everyone who combusted spontaneously had been left by everyone they loved one too many times, causing their heart to break, which created sparks that lit their internal organs on fire.

"What're you thinking about?" Buffy wanted to know, apparently much more aware of the quiet than Dawn had been.

"Oh… Nothing," Dawn lied.

Buffy grimaced guiltily. "I know I probably seem horrible, wanting to go back so soon after I left, but something tells me I need to be there."

"Yeah," Dawn muttered. "Your libido."

"Hey!" Buffy cried, "My libido is totally in check. Big check in the libido section."

Dawn placed her hands on her hips and held a stance that showed just how little she believed her. "You don't know what it was like the first time: Angel losing his soul. You don't remember when he went crazy and tried to kill us all, which means that all you see is the major league hottie with the most tortured soul this side of the globe. Honestly, if you _weren't_ seriously resisting the temptation to run back to L.A. and make big smoochies I'd be sure Willow brought you back wrong."

Buffy flinched at the implication that she had been brought wrong, knowing that – to some extent, at least (judging from her memory loss) – she had. "Okay, so he's a hottie, but that doesn't mean I'm running off to L.A. just to get my next fix of eye candy," she protested.

Dawn chose not to argue this yet. Wait for the rest of the Scoobies; that was the best plan. "We're almost at the house."

Buffy nodded. "I suppose you wanna talk to everyone else before I drag my unlicensed – wait, _do_ I have a license?" Buffy looked hopeful and Dawn scowled.

"Not going to happen."

"Fine, well, drag my _technically_ unlicensed-self back to L.A."

"If anyone's going to be dragging anyone, it'll be me dragging you away from Angel. I've seen this movie before, I know how it ends."

"I'm not going to…" Buffy defended meekly, ascending the steps and drifting back into silence. Some small voice in her head added; _right now, anyway_.

"Dawn! Buffy!" Willow pulled open the door frantically, her eyes flickering erratically between the two girls. "Come in! I've got a surprise – I mean, come in! I've got someone for you."

Buffy shot a questioning 'do I trust her?' look at Dawn, and when Dawn nodded Buffy entered the threshold before her younger sister.

"Anyway, Buffy," Willow began, blocking off the predominance of her view into the house, "I've got someone for you."

"You said I didn't have a boyfriend," Buffy said uncertainly.

Willow turned white and let out a bark of laughter. "Boyfriend! God, no. He's…" Willow peeked fleetingly over her shoulder and into the kitchen. "Well, come and meet him. You too, Dawnie."

"I haven't met him?" Dawn asked, raising an eyebrow and immediately requesting more information.

Willows' continual face palms were the only thing missing from the serious physical comedy she displayed as she clumsily led them into the kitchen, almost knocking over several things as she went.

"No, of course you have," she replied in an assuring tone. "I just don't think you'll be expecting…"

Willow trailed off as the three women reached the kitchen.

Buffy's first thought was of his outfit. As much as she had learned not to judge people by their clothing (and more by the number of weapons in their hands... and whether or not they had hands), this much tweed simply could not go unjudged.

The man turned around and Buffy predicted from his face that he was in his forties or fifties. He cleaned his glasses hastily and used the same handkerchief to wipe away tears that pooled in his eyes when they met hers.

"Buffy," was the first thing the ex-librarian said, stepping forward to greet her properly.

* * *

And there you have it. Yes, it's overdone, but I had to get a mention of the cookie dough fudge mint chip in there. I would be so ecstatic if that were a real flavour. Ecstatic and about 50 kilograms heavier. Bet you can't guess who the man with the southern accent was ;)  
Not entirely sure about this chapter, so you be the judge.  
Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome and appreciated; they're the only thing that make me want to keep posting on here, after all.


	20. You Can Take Giles Out Of The Hellmouth

Chapter twenty! Thanks everyone for the reviews, alerts and favourites.  
As always, read and enjoy!

* * *

"Hi," said Buffy in the same uncertain tone she had used when being introduced to all of her apparently immediate friends and family.

"I… It's… Oh my," he stuttered, superfluously wiping his glasses again. In what seemed to be an act against his better judgement, he, like the rest of them, pulled her in for a bone-crushing (by normal human standards) hug. "Oh, Buffy."

"Yep," said Buffy, her voice muffled by the plethora of tweed acquainting itself with her face. "I'm Buffy. Buffy is me. Buffy is," she gasped, receiving a mouthful of what felt like lint and dust, "Hoping to breathe sometime soon."

The man released her immediately. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know you don't remember me, but…" Buffy saw him twiddle his fingers in what she could only assume was an attempt to resist cleaning his glasses again. "I remember you. You're something of a," he settled with simply adjusting his glasses this time, "Well, something of a daughter to me."

"Oh," Buffy said, very intelligently. "Thank you, Mr…"

"Right!" Willow jumped in, "This is Rupert Giles. We call him Giles. He was the librarian at Sunnydale High before we um, blew it up. You… heard about that?"

Buffy nodded.

"Well, he was the librarian. But he was also your Watcher. _Is_ also," she added quickly. "Is also your Watcher."

Dawn rushed over and draped her arms around Giles. "Giles! You're back! Thank God, it's so much less stuffy with you here!"

"Hello Dawn," Giles said composedly, his tone firm but the smile breaking onto his face revealing how glad he was to see them. "Well then, I'm glad to provide a much needed air of, er, stuff," he said awkwardly, then added to himself; "Back in America for five minutes…"

"Oh! Rupert Giles!" cried Buffy as the name clicked in her brain. "Lilah told me about you."

"Lilah?" Giles questioned, disliking the way his name sounded like academic drivel when said by his ex-ward.

Buffy waited for Willow to offer a response. When none was given, she elaborated. "Lilah Morgan works for Wolfram and Hart, an evil law firm in L.A. with a big Jones for Angel stake. She took me in when I went to find my parents after I had been resurrected. She taught me just enough about my Slayer heritage to trick me into trusting her and tried to have me kill Angel. She told me you were dead and utterly incompetent."

"Oh," was the only reply Giles could muster. "I see Willow owes me much more of an explanation than she insinuated."

"Yeah," said Willow, attempting to shift the focus away from her. "We're not totally up on the details either. Sort of a work in progress."

"I see," Giles summed Willow up with a look that told her that – regardless of her actual parentage – she was in for a long, fatherly lecture as soon as the two were alone.

"So, Giles," Buffy tried to sound cool. That was important, right? A good first impression for such a strict-looking man. Then again, this wasn't a first impression for him. "What brings you back to the home of the Hellmouth?"

"Well, uh, _you_, actually," Giles rejoined. "Willow called me when she was informed of your… now-living status," Giles cursed himself for making her sound like some sort of science experiment, "And I returned on the pretence that you may need my help with your memory impairment."

"Yeah, looking for some help with that; it's a real drag. I don't even get a sticker that guarantees me a good parking spot. If I could _drive_, that is," she groaned in Willow's general direction.

"Giles," Willow beseeched him. "You remember how awful she was when she first tried to drive–" Willow was temporarily cut off by a bark of Giles' laughter. "Tell her she can't drive."

Giles regained his misplaced composure and faced her. "Willow, Buffy has known me five minutes, I don't think it would be socially acceptable of me to–"

"You have to teach her in your car!"

"Buffy," said Giles firmly, "I hope you'll grow to know that I care for you deeply, but that doesn't alter the fact that you're an abysmal motorist who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a steering wheel."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Buffy sulked, folding her arms in a huff.

Before any further discussion could progress, the front door swung open and a gust of cool air flowed in. Buffy rubbed her hands against her arms and waited for the friction to relieve the chill that rushed up her spine.

"Well, I'll be damned," Xander said, his eyes widening in surprise as he surveyed Giles. "You can take the Watcher out of the Hellmouth…"

"You can, but it's likely that as long as his Slayer is there, he'll come rushing back." Giles smiled as he and Xander embraced awkwardly.

"How's the Motherland, English?" Xander asked once the formal pleasantries were through with. "Were they ready to handle your rambunctiously Americanised ways yet, you crazy party weasel?"

"I daresay they had matured a great deal more than you have," he replied curtly.

Xander placed his hand against his breast in a mockingly offended manner. "Giles! I'm hurt."

"He's matured a great deal," Anya told him as she walked into the room. "We're getting married," she flashed the ring as proof, waggling it right in front of Giles' nose, causing him to take a step back.

"Yes, alright, I believe you. When," Giles began with interest he hardly felt – his concerns more about Buffy, "Is the date?"

Xander shifted guiltily and kept his eyes off of Anya, the subject still a fresh wound opened between them. "It was supposed to be in a week, but with everything that's happened…" He tried to ignore the pang of guilt he felt when he saw Anya frown in his periphery, "We've decided to postpone it for a few months."

Anya looked at Buffy pointedly and Dawn let out a moan of disappointment for the couple.

"Sorry Xand," Willow responded, with her signature half pout, half frown.

"Thanks Wil."

"Okay, now that everyone's here I need to talk to you all about something," Buffy started, as Giles mused upon how her voice still retained its' air of leadership, without her knowledge.

"What is it Buffy?" Willow asked, fears of inadequacy running at the forefront of her mind. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's… Wrong," Buffy indicated for everyone to move to the living room and be seated. "You guys sit."

Xander pointed towards an empty seat and airily demonstrated how to sit down. "Gonna sit down, Buff?"

"No, I think I'd rather stand," she replied with her arms folded.

"Same old Buffy. What are you, afraid that some Hellmouth demon-y chairs are going to eat you?" Xander suggested, the goofy grin fading from his face as an irrational fear of the dormant couches was spurred on by his comment. Dawn, grabbing her chance, ran her hand over the back of the chair and pinched the back of Xanders' neck, tickling the hairs.

Xander jumped up, stumbling away from the couch and rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "Yeeeegh." He shuddered.

Dawn, with only so little self-restraint, guffawed at her own practical joke.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Xander muttered. After investigating the couch quickly and deciding against it, he said; "You know, I might just sit on the floor."

Anya promptly seated herself next to him on the ground, with Willow and Dawn on the couch and Giles still aloof. The room was silent for several seconds before Buffy took it as a cue that she was finally allowed to speak.

Buffy took a deep breath and looked around the room full of people who loved her. People who had cried when she had met them in L.A.

Maybe, she considered, her speech could wait until morning. She didn't need to go rushing back to L.A. because of an unfounded gut feeling and a name that she wasn't even sure meant anything. She hadn't even spent one night in her own bed yet. _One night_, she promised herself. And besides, she reasoned with herself, Angel would have called her if something had gone awry. He had promised her that, at some point. Willow was the first to break the silence. "Earth to Buffy?"

"Yeah?" she responded. "Oh, right. Um, I just wanted to tell you guys that," Buffy looked at Dawn and curved the corners of her lips in a discreet and telling smile. "That I'm glad to have you all here, and to say thank you for everything."

Dawn began to look incredulous before Buffys' words sunk in and the feeling was overtaken by happiness that her sister wasn't leaving again.

"We're glad you're back," Xander told Buffy over the top of the hug that Willow thrust upon her.

Buffy wrapped her arms around Willow and smiled to herself. The thought of some sort of normality returning to what was, on the whole, an entirely un-normal life made her glad.

"So what do we do to celebrate here? Steaming cup of cocoa and roasted marshmallows? Warm ourselves by a fire fuelled by the fallen bodies of those we slay?" she glanced at Giles. "Tea?"

"Depends what day of the week it is," replied Xander, standing up and hesitantly seating himself on the possibly evil couch.

Buffy nodded solemnly. "I see. What day do we warm ourselves by the fallen bodies of those we slay? Because I'm planning to be sick that day. On that note, do I get some kind of regular no-slay day? Time off maybe?"

"Well, the demons at the Slayers' Rights seminar are still arguing that one."

"Hmph," was Buffys' comeback.

"Hey everyone?" Dawn called just before a yawn erupted from her. "I don't mean to sound pushy, but all that travelling wore me out, so…"

"Of course," Giles volunteered for the rest of the group. "You two need your rest."

"I sorta live here too Giles," Willow said, mostly just in case he didn't remember, partly because she felt a little left out.

"Yes, I'm sorry, the three of you. I'll leave you be, and I think Anya and Xander should do the same." Giles walked towards the door, summing His Slayer up one more time with pride and happiness that sparkled in his eyes like diamonds. "Goodnight everyone. It's…" he stopped in the doorway and looked back once more. "It's good to have you back, Buffy."

"Thank you," replied Buffy, with feeling.

"'Night Giles!" Dawn called as the door shut behind him.

"Giles is right, we should probably hit the road," Xander said.

"Goodnight everyone," Anya said promptly, her farewell apparently for the both of them as she dragged Xander out of the house to do things that no one left there was willing to think about.

"Do you need anything?" Dawn asked Buffy, then adding in a teasing tone; "Remember where your room is?"

"I remember my strength pretty well," Buffy retorted, flexing her arm.

"Okay, well, night!" Dawn squeaked, the stairs creaking as she bounded up them at alarming speeds.

Buffy wasn't sure if there was something she should say to Willow, and in that moment she was drawing blanks for any sort of conversational topic.

"I'm pretty um, tired. I think I'm gonna go to bed now," Buffy told her.

Willow looked like she was about to ask Buffy if she needed anything, but something in the Slayers' expression stopped her. "Okay, goodnight. Sleep well."

"You too."

There were a hundred things that Willow needed to do. She could think of half of them that second, but in her exhausted state she couldn't muster enough strength to worry about them, thinking only of the comfort of the bed waiting for her upstairs. She clicked her fingers and out the lights went. It was good to be home.

* * *

Buffy liked her bedroom. As soon as she had walked into it, she had known that it belonged to her. It was filled with small and telling idiosyncrasies that, to anyone else, would go completely unnoticed. It was almost as though she had her very own doppelganger; someone who shared the same thoughts and actions, who had done things she hadn't.

On her dressing table was a disturbed box of dusty old photos. Buffy had spent half an hour perusing through them, marvelling at the people she had met and how they had changed. Marvelling at how _she_ had changed.

Buffy had found one photograph that struck her interest particularly; it was a photograph that she predicted was taken her first or second year in Sunnydale, a painfully normal scene: popcorn and a badly upholstered lounge that had apparently been replaced and a screenshot of an old-timey horror movie flashing on the television in the background. No, this was all completely normal, but the fact that she was lounging lazily across Angel, who the camera had caught mid-laugh was the surprising part.

She had never heard the vampire laugh with any mirth, and when he had done it at all it had been a cold, loveless sound. As she looked at the picture she had imagined what it would sound like: light, free and pleasant. Incongruous to so much of what she knew of his disposition. She lulled herself to sleep by branching out on thoughts related to this, and eventually thoughts in general. Her mind drifted off any sort of path and she quickly fell into a welcome slumber.

* * *

Buffy dreamed of oddly normal things that night. She dreamed of family holidays, picnics, crushes and more school than she liked in her happy dreamland.

After reliving a particularly embarrassing episode at the beach that she would have been _more _than happy to permanently forget, the dream pattern shifted. Her dreams changed from easy and jovial to colourless and haunting. Danger. It flashed in her mind again and again. Danger. Danger. Danger.

As soon as the happiness leaked out of her dream the setting changed. She was lying exactly where she had been before she went to sleep, and there was a figure standing over her bed, banging and rattling and rummaging through her things. She immediately felt unsettled by the scene.

Buffy found that, like in L.A. when Willow had taken recovering her memory into her own hands, she had no mobility. All the yelling in the world failed to deter the demon and eventually it drew closer to her, weighing down the bed as the mattress protested.

The demon clogged her nostrils with its' malodorous scent. There was no escape path and soon its' claws found her skin.

"Who are you?" she managed to choke out, hoping it was loud enough for the demon to hear and that it would choose to humour her in answering her question.

"Sahjhan," it whispered back with grim satisfaction, face still cloaked by the darkness.

"You know girly, you wouldn't be in this position if God didn't think you were a sinnin', cheatin' whore like the rest of 'em," a hidden figure with a prominent Southern accent told her.

"Get the hell off me," she growled at the demon.

"You're not really in a position to argue, Slayer," Sahjhan replied, all the while contentedly ripping at the flesh on her arm. "But if you insist," he rose, leaving what was left of her mangled limb.

"All in good time," the preacher told the demon, and the two bounded onto the bed. All of a sudden she could see the demons' features perfectly. For the split second before he lunged, teeth bared, at her face.

* * *

Buffy awoke with a start, jolting into consciousness. She was glad to be awake, relieved that her face was still in one piece and her appendages intact. Before her breathing could begin to slow, however, she felt a cold figure stir next to her.

An indistinct shout escaping her lips, Buffy scrambled to be away from the creature in what she had_ thought_ was her bed.

As Buffy sprung out of bed, she dragged the blankets along for the ride, causing the figure to tumble out of bed and fall to the ground with a loud and unnerving '_thump_'.

"Bloody _hell_!" the drunkenly slurred voice exclaimed, rising to his feet.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice thankfully managing to sound a lot fiercer than she felt at that moment.

"What do you mean who the hell am I? This is _my_ bleedin' dream," the figure explained, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. Buffy backed away; this man was clearly drunk. "What are you backin' away for? You never backed away before. Or are you the bot?"

This took Buffy by surprise. Willow had assured her that she wasn't in a relationship, and the group she was in seemed far too tight knit for her to have a secret boyfriend.

But, she considered, if this _was_ her secret boyfriend, it seemed he was the epitome of 'things to keep from friends'.

Between his badly bleached and regrowth infested hair and his dejected state, this man was _definitely _something that Buffy would have kept in the shadows, figuratively.

"Buffy," the man beseeched her, his voice taking on more of a pleading tone. "Don't run away from me love. This is all we've got left."

"W… What do you mean, _this_?" she asked him, her voice growing softer in response to his tone, which inspired something akin to pity inside of her. "What's this?"

The man seemed to sober, if only slightly. His eyes focused and he analysed their setting. "This is my dream."

Buffy held her frontward stance with the man, allowing her back to ease slowly towards the door. "This isn't a dream. This is reality. And you were majorly in my bed with me _in reality_, so if you could count your twelve steps or whatever and pay attention, I'd like you to tell me what you're doing here."

When the figure did nothing but stare with his mouth agape, the Slayer moved on to her next tactic.

"You know there's a powerful Wicca down the hall. We're tight like _this_," Buffy crossed her fingers to demonstrate, "And she'd totally turn you into a toad if I asked. So make with the spillage."

"Is this my conscience?" the figure asked the room, staring off into the distance. By the shell-shocked look in his eyes, Buffy thought he must have been looking at something horrible. She tried desperately to wrack her brains for a name of an acquaintance that she was yet to meet in Sunnydale, and she drew blanks.

"Is this my punishment? Because I'm taking care of Dawn, I am, I took care of her like I promised, I told her that I'd take care of Dawn and I am and she's doing okay in school and the witch takes care of her in the daytime and she's not dead and–" the man rambled on, tears running down his face.

"Daytime?" she questioned, that little switch in her brain not quite clicking in the face of so much guilt.

"Yeah," he wailed, "I told you I'd take care of the niblet and _I am_. I'm doin' right by you Buffy, just like you wanted, like you told me. So don't leave me, okay? We're never alone anymore," he continued on, talking to himself as much as he was her, "It's always you and that friggin' _tower_," he paused to allow her to talk. She was unsure of whether he was talking to her or someone who wasn't present in his liquor-induced stupor. "And then it's fine for a while, but then I wake up, and you _leave _me again."

The man drew closer to Buffy, and she backed against the door, her hand reaching desperately for the doorknob.

"So don't leave," he whispered into her ear, the alcohol strong on his breath. "Just," he brushed his hand against hers, "Stay."

The touch didn't send the same kind of shockwave up her arm as Angels' had a day earlier, and she found herself automatically pushing him away.  
"Don't touch me."

Buffy thudded out of the room in search of Willow. Buffy was relieved that she was in the room she had said she would be, and she promptly shook the witch awake.

"_Willow_!" she hissed. "There's someone_ in my room_! He's_ drunk_!"

Willow looked up at her and Buffy saw in an instant that Willow knew whom the intruder was.

"Oh God," she cursed, pushing up off the bed and instructing that Buffy stay where she was momentarily.

Striding into the room, Willow interrupted Spike amidst what she didn't doubt was a very interesting internal debate.

"Spike?" Willow treaded cautiously into the room, ready to bind him at any moment. "Spike, it's me."

"Willow?" Spike was very obviously confused. "But… You don't need saving. I never saved _you_, never needed to, because I saved Buffy, and then everyone was fine," he went from confused to distressed in three seconds flat, like a small animal separated from its' owner. "Where's Buffy?"

"_Clarifis_," she muttered in an attempt to clear his mind.

All of a sudden Spike was totally coherent. "Willow? What're you doin' here? Thought you and the lot were off in L.A. with Tall, Dark and Forehead and his band of Merry Men."

"We uh, came back. Do you remember what you just saw?"

"Yeah, I mean, I remember havin' a dream…" Spikes' eyes narrowed as he appraised the witch, trying to think lucidly.

Buffy knocked on the door. The voices had quieted and she wanted to make sure all was well – along with a burning desire to know just whom her unintentional bunk-buddy was.

"Willow? Are you okay?"

Willow turned around, groaning inwardly. "Maybe you should go back to–"

Spike veered around her and surveyed what was apparently neither a dream, nor the Buffy-bot. Her heart beat quickly, like a comforting lullaby.

"Buffy," Spike breathed, as though the name was his salvation, while Buffy remained still and sorely confused. She had only ever heard one other person say her name like that, and he was currently residing in L.A.

"Who are you?" Buffy paused, she only knew two vampires with a semblance of humanity so she asked the next logical question that popped into her head. "… Are you friends with Angel?"

From the look on the vampires' face, she could safely assume that he wasn't.

* * *

And there you have it. Without giving anything away, I can promise you guys that some Buffy/Angel love is coming soon.  
I know it wasn't a very eventful chapter, but I needed to cover everything in Sunnydale so that she can go back to L.A. to fight Sahjhan. It would have been very unBuffylike if she'd just run away without even a night at home, what with Dawn and all. The dream; pretty much just Buffy being aware that Sahjhan intends to some serious damage. Spike; I love Spike. I'm not a huge fan of Spuffy, but I still love Spike himself. It didn't feel right not to let him meet the woman whose sister he's been dutifully looking after for months upon months. Of course he'd think she was a dream; before he sobres up, he's off his face. His drunken pleading made me sad, though. It was my take on the whole 'I save you in my dreams' thing he said when Buffy was brought back. Spike being good and Buffy's automatic question: "are you friends with Angel?" Had to put it in there. Just had to do it.  
Anyway, enough rambling.  
If you like it, leave me a review. It takes like two seconds, and it's the only thing that lets me know that this story is liked on here.  
Thanks for reading!


	21. Not About Angel

Chapter twenty-one, here it is! Thanks for the reviews, alerts and favourites. You guys are all excellent. Also, I'm a beta now! Just putting it out there, if anyone needs beta-ing. :D This is, for me, an early post. I couldn't wait, I had to get it out there!  
As always, read and enjoy!

* * *

"Angel?" Cordy asked as she heard footsteps echo in the hotel. "Is that you?"

"Cordy?" the voice responded, answering her question. "Why are you still here?"

Cordy shrugged, then realised that he was facing the opposite way. His shoulders were tensed and he held a broadsword in his right hand, examining his weapons cabinet. "Fumigation at my apartment. I figured you could spare one of your sixty six rooms or whatever for a night."

"Okay," Angel replied, turning to face her with a blank expression. "Do you need anything?"

Shaking her head, his best friend assured him that she was fine. "You do, though." Angel raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she meant. Cordy raised her hand and pointed to his attire with distaste. "You need a shower."

Angel examined the translucent goo staining his shirt. He brushed two fingers against it and recoiled when the smell reached his nose. "Oh."

"You okay big guy?" she asked, looking more sincere.

He responded to this with the shrug he had been using every time a question of that nature was asked. "Do I not look okay? Or," he paused, the smell still lingering in his nostrils. "Do I not seem okay?"

Cordy shot him a knowing look. "I'm a seer. That doesn't just mean I get visions of people I've never met; I can see you. You're in some serious Buffy-induced pain here. _Again_."

Angel shed his jacket, throwing it carelessly to his right. He said nothing.

"One of these days you're going to have to learn to respond to anything related to a certain abolisher of all evil residing in Sunnydale. With words."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything."

"Fine," Angel glowered at her, "I don't want to talk about it. There's something."

"Are we going to have another Darla repeat? Because I'm not moving out again. _You_ leave this time."

Angels' glower increased in ferocity before he turned around and walked up the stairs.

Cordy sighed and resumed her word puzzle. She yelled at his retreating back; "Eight letters! Synonym for officious!"

"Cordelia!" Angel snapped back.

By the time she had looked up what it meant, her chance for a witty retort had passed, so she simply glared at the jacket on the floor belonging to the offender.

* * *

"Angel?" the vampire spat the name as though it were a particularly offensive term. The word failed to roll of his tongue so much as it was shoved eagerly off of it. He directed his questions towards Willow, hoping for some sort of answer. "What does anything have to do with that ponce?"

When Willow shook her head guiltily Spike proceeded forward and grabbed her arm. Not with enough force to cause pain or with any intention so, but as a way of gaining her full attention.

"What's happening?" he asked, with a hint of something more than his usual dejectedness.

"Buffy," Willow instructed the girl, "I think you should go to bed. I'm going to talk to Spike."

Buffy rejected her advice on the simple basis of not appreciating being spoken to like a child. "No, I'm good."

Willow gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to cast a spell on her friend. It wasn't anything big, just a little sleeping spell. What could go wrong with that? What could go wrong; that was a loaded question. Without consciously allowing it, Willow was reminded of the events that transpired in L.A., and – forsaking any magical aid – asked her friend very sweetly this time. "Buffy, could you please go to your room? Or," she corrected, realising they were in her room, "Let Spike and I talk in private?"

Buffy shrugged in surrender. "I'll go watch some trash on the tube. Has TV gotten any better while I was out?"

Sensing that her light heartedness was probably impertinent, Buffy shrugged once more and proceeded down the stairs.

"Okay Red; what's the what, you and your witch done some kind of spell?" Spike didn't look angry, just hesitant to believe.

Willow took a deep breath, deciding not to advise Spike to take a seat. "Do you remember those biker demons, a few months ago?"

* * *

The pictures from the television flashed before Buffy's eyes, but she was intently focused on the dancing light that obscured her vision from behind her eyelids. She sat back and closed her eyes, knowing that there was something just beyond her reach that she was missing. Her mind tried to clamp down on the blurred lines and feather-light touches that circled just outside of her consciousness. She was closer to herself now, but she wasn't sure that – sitting there, being teased and taunted by the ghosts of memories she couldn't have – this was a better alternative.

"I love this show," Dawn said animatedly, bounding onto the lounge and picking up the remote to increase the volume to an offensive level.

Buffy's eyes snapped open, all phantoms lurking in her mind retreating into the unreachable black. With nothing to grab onto, she returned to the present in annoyance. "I wasn't really watching it."

"Spike loves it," laughed Dawn in what was probably supposed to be a teasing manner. "Spike's the one Willow told you about in L.A.," she clarified.

"I met him," Buffy grumbled.

"Whoa, when?" Dawn asked her, tearing her eyes away from the program that was apparently not too engaging after all.

"Just then. Vampire, stringy… radioactive blonde?" Buffy pulled at her own locks to demonstrate, "Cheekbones up to here?" she raised her hands to her eyes and watched Dawn laugh, "Drunk?"

Dawn nodded, then drew her attention to the last description. "Drunk?"

"Yeah, he got into my bed. He thought I was a robot or a dream, or something equally high up on the 'things-Buffy-isn't' list."

Dawn stared at the stairs with what looked to Buffy like affectionate concern and after a second she realised it wasn't for her. "Is he still up there? Do you need me to deal with him?"

"No, Willow's turning him into a toad."

"_What_?!" Dawn jumped up quickly, racing for the stairs. "She wouldn't!"

"I kid. Did I swap a sense of humour for super-strength?" Buffy asked mildly.

Dawn levelled her gaze to meet Buffy's. "That's what I've been saying for years."

Buffy looked thoughtful for a moment, and Dawn knew not to speak. "I still need to talk to everyone."

Dawn sighed. "You're not changing your mind about this, are you?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. You think you can handle another trip?"

Dawn, although touched by Buffy's suggestion that she join her in L.A., couldn't say yes. "Willow got a call tonight from my principal. I'm on some kind of school watch, and apparently if I miss any more school they have to have some kind of meeting about me."

Buffy appeared concerned. "Why?"

Dawn wasn't sure whether to laugh or look embarrassed. She decided the latter would be more prudent. "I did some fighting."

"I thought I was supposed to be the violent one!"

Dawn smiled dryly. "You fight your demons, I fight mine."

Before Buffy could reply, Willow and Spike descended the stairs. Buffy stood automatically, reaching into her pocket for a stake that wasn't there. She fought off her instincts as she held her ground in the face of the approaching vampire. She had enough practice with that anyway, didn't she? She had been in love with a vampire, certainly at one time. That warranted some level of domination of her senses. She could trust herself.

"Buffy, um," Willow started as Spike stood beside her, his eyes never leaving Buffys'. "This is Spike. The one I told you about; the one that helps us."

Buffy nodded and stuck out her hand, figuring that was the best thing to do. Spike grasped onto it slowly, not moving his hand so much as moulding to hers. She felt like all of the warmth she held inside her had transferred into his eyes, which stared into hers with fervent intensity that made her want to blush or put on a jacket. She also made a mental note to ask someone at some point; did she slay vampires, or flirt them to death?

* * *

The Magic Box was as busy as ever. Under Anya's ownership – or, depending on who you spoke to, in spite of it – it thrived. When Giles returned to his store, all hell broke loose. The ex-Watcher suspected somewhat that if Anya hadn't hung up her proverbial demon-hat, that phrase would have been a little too literal for his liking.

"Giles" Anya greeted him, grinning. "It's good to see you! You can't have your store back."

Giles chuckled. "Yes, I know. Hello Anya. How are things going?" He peeked towards the underparts of the counter, enquiring about the logbook and their monthly sales.

"Quite well," Anya replied, hastily blocking his view of the counter. "Have you seen Buffy yet?"

He looked somewhat disheartened. "Yes, yes I have. She's… I'm afraid she's going to have to retake some, if not all of her training. I can't, in good conscience, let her continue her duties without at least the crucial points of her training with her."

"That makes sense. We don't want her to die again, because everyone was sad and didn't know what to do."

Giles, musing on how the voice of simplicity was sometimes the wisest, agreed with her with a resigned nod of his head that was more his lowering of his eyes to surfacing tears and, inevitably, tend to his glasses. "Yes. Exactly."

The front door tinkled, and Giles and Anya saw Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander and Anya walk through it; the thing that drew Giles' attention foremost was the solid look of determination on Buffy's face, and the opposite one of defeat on the others.

"Giles?" was the first thing Buffy said. "Do you drive?"

Giles responded affirmatively. "Why?"

"I need to go to L.A."

"Buff," Xander pleaded, "Maybe we should talk about this first."

"What's happened?" Giles asked, concerned.

"Buffy thinks–" Dawn began.

"Knows," Buffy corrected gently.

"Okay, knows that there's something in L.A. that she needs to…" Dawns' voice faded as she realised she wasn't aware of what exactly Buffy was supposed to do.

"Fight," her sister finished for her, her determination not giving an inch.

"Is everyone else thinking what I am?" Xander asked the room. "Maybe… Broody vampire? About so high?" he lifted his hand slightly above his head.

"This isn't about Angel," Buffy snapped. Then, apologetically, she continued; "Something has been _telling_ me I need to be there. Like one of those dreams, but different."

"Buffy, there's someone or something working some serious mojo on your mind. You don't think that maybe this could, y'know, be a trap?" Willow asked, sharing a worried look with Xander behind the Slayers' back.

"No. This feels real."

"We just got back," Xander pointed out with exasperation. "And Dawn can't leave. How long do you think you'll be gone for? A week? A month? A year?"

Buffy looked straight at him, daring him to challenge her further. "As long as it takes."

"And Dawn's just left in Scooby daycare again? 'Have fun sweetie, I'll pick you up when I'm done, see you next month, you know, if I'm not dead'?"

"Of course not!" Buffy protested, anger seeping into her voice. "I _need_ to do this. I'm not running off for a vacation. This is about what's _right._"

Xander tried one, last avenue in his attempt to make her see sense. "Buffy, you do kind of have a history of sore spots where Angel's concerned. I think you know that, memory or not."

"This has _nothing_ to do with Angel!" she repeated, all but stamping her foot down in her frustration. This _didn't _have anything to do with Angel, it was about the voice whispering at the back of her mind; the one that was there all the time, telling her she needed to be in L.A., telling her that people would suffer if she didn't. Angel was just a... bonus. A big, brooding bag of bonus.

"So who would you stay with when you went to L.A.?" Xander asked, knowing that he had her beaten. After months of watching Dawn – along with the rest of them – suffer quietly, any threat to her happiness set off the overprotective brother mode in him. The bitterness he felt towards Angel, though not completely gone, had subsided with distance and time put between them. Seeing Buffy, back into her old life for only two days, wanting to rush off to L.A. again closed the gap between petty, jealous high school Xander and engaged, employed, passive Xander quite nicely.

Buffy knew, as he did, that she had been beaten in that respect. "Where else would I stay? That doesn't mean he's my material reason for leaving in the first place." Just a big, broody bonus.

"Except for the part where he kind of is," Willow piped in. "We're not judging you, and we'll do what we can to help you, but Angel… it just, it never ends well. We don't want to see you like that again. Be careful."

Buffy nodded coldly. "Giles, can you help me research something called '_Sahjhan_' on the way?"

Giles, though not eager to leave so soon, trusted Buffy's judgement – and dreams – for the time being. "Would you like to pack some things?" he asked, necessary reading materials.

"No," she replied, "I brought a bag. Willow," Buffy returned to the witch, "I'm going to need you to come with me to help, just in case we need some magic."

"Okay, _now_ I'm objecting. Find someone else," Xander demanded, "Willow's not up to it."

Willow glowered. "You think I'm not up to a little magic?"

"I think you're up to a lot of magic, and I think that's the problem."

Buffy understood. "You're right. Giles, how much magic can you do?"

"Very little, and very basically. But I understand that Wesley is among Angel's comrades in L.A., perhaps he could aid us?"

"Okay." She shuffled towards Dawn, with her guilt evident. Buffy wrapped her arms around her, wishing that Dawn could rest her head comfortably on her neck, not the other way around. She warmed to her sister and cherished the physical connection she felt; it was almost like having her mother back again. "I'm sorry I'm leaving again. I'll kill this Sahjhan thingy and be back as soon as I can, 'kay?"

Dawn wiped tears away from her face with the tattered sleeve of her favourite jacket. "I just got you back."

Buffy smiled. "I am back. I'll _be_ back. Soon."

"I'm sorry, if I've hurt you in the past," she said to Xander. "But I know I'm right."

Xander shrugged. "Same old Buffy."

Willow knew by now that she wasn't going to win, or be able to come to L.A. She settled for: "Call me if you need me."

"I will," Buffy promised, her arms still wrapped around Dawn. With a kiss on her sisters' forehead, the Slayer prepared for departure.

"You'd better not have a red, shiny, two door mid-life crisis waiting for us," she teased her Watcher, having seen his car before she had entered.

"No," Giles assured her with some amusement, "Of course not."

* * *

The two travelled all night and talked all night. By the time Buffy arrived in L.A., she was far better acquainted with her Watcher, her past and those around her. She learned how she had died along with why and what Dawn was. Giles hadn't felt the need to explain that she should have remembered Dawn from her earlier years, hoping that the trip to L.A. would prove useful in her memory recovery and he wouldn't need to.

"Wait," she hesitated as they stopped in front of the Hyperion. "I forgot to call."

Giles thought for a moment. "I think your mission necessitates impertinence."

Buffy made a sour face. "Do they all talk like that back in the Motherland?"

"No, the rest of them are terribly pompous and over-articulate."

"Oh," Buffy said, very sarcastically. "Good, had me worried for a sec there."

Buffy approached the building nervously. What if Angel didn't want to see her? What if he didn't want her there? She stemmed the flow of panic, reminding herself that she had a mission. He would understand that. She didn't know if that made her feel any better or worse.

"Can you…?" Buffy pointed to the door, childishly backing away from it herself as though it were a poisonous snake. Humouring her, he knocked on the door and waited for someone to open it.

"Ah, the lady is home." The demon smiled broadly. She had never met him in person, but Buffy knew who this was: an apparition from her dreams, now in physical form.

"Sahjhan," she spat, throwing a punch that he caught and countered twice. Her body ached to fold as his concrete fist met her abdomen, then her lip, but her instincts ensured that she stood tall. Breathing in deeply, she pivoted and sent the other foot flying at his head. It made contact, and the demon stumbled backward. Buffy lurched forward in what she had intended to be a follow up blow, but her bruised ribs would not allow her to move in any substantial way.

"You _are_ strong. We have a meeting, you and I," he told her in a matter-of-fact voice, apparently unfazed by the headshot she had delivered. "But not tonight. The father ought to have killed the son, but instead I've you."

"I guess I'm unpredictable that way," she replied, her nonchalance failing it's purpose due to the blood that dribbled from her mouth and the pain that was knitted in her brows.

"Yes," he finished, shoving Giles aside as though he were a rag doll. He fled – or meandered comfortably from – the premises as Buffy rushed to her Watchers' side.

"Are you okay?" she asked, panicked, searching for a bone sticking up the wrong way or large, purple bruise. Bruises wouldn't show up that soon, would they?

"I'm fine." He lifted himself up with minimal difficulty and Buffy let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't known she had been holding in.

Her lungs filled to maximum capacity once again when she saw the person standing in the lobby. Angel stood; glad but not altogether surprised to see her. He nursed his arm at a delicate angle and his left cheekbone was cut. With a limp, he hobbled over to her and checked for injuries. "Are you hurt?" he asked her, then Giles.

"Fine," she said, thinking that it was probably the word of the day. "What happened?"

"I don't know. He came in, asked where the girl was, but Cordy had gone home already; I told him I didn't know. I didn't realise he meant you."

"And then he decided that you were just as good a punching bag as any?"

"Something like that."

Regardless of the circumstances, Buffy was unable to hold her smile at bay. It was small, but it was something. She levelled her gaze, trying to keep her eyes from his injuries, and gave him a slight smile that, for once, reached her eyes. It was difficult to remember that she wasn't here for this, and that it wasn't about Angel. Willow's voice echoed in her mind. '_Except for the part where he kind of is_.'

"Angel," Giles said, "It's good to see you again. Unfortunate circumstances."

Angel smiled lopsidedly, compensating for the cut on his cheek. "Yeah. What was that?"

"Sahjhan. Something Buffy has been, er, dreaming about. May I use your phone? I should let Willow and Xander know that we arrived… safely." Giles looked like he didn't think the word fit very appropriately.

"By all means. Call Wesley, while you're at it. He may be able to help you."

Giles had fully intended to call Wesley, and was glad when he was pointed towards the phone and phonebook on the desk.

"What does he want?" Angel asked, not entirely comfortable with the gender he had bestowed upon the demon. 'It' felt much more appropriate. That, or a number of four letter words he had been holding inside when he had realised that Buffy within earshot.

"Buffy, as far as we can tell," Giles replied.

"That makes two of us," the vampire muttered under his breath a moment later, Slayer hearing forgotten.

"What?" responded Giles distractedly, holding the receiver to his ear and tapping the desk impatiently.

"Nothing."

He didn't see it, but Giles caught the look Buffy sent Angel. The Watcher had a feeling that their trip to L.A. would contain more than fighting for the two. Hopefully, he thought with amusement, it would be a trip to remember.

* * *

Okay, the lady is back. Now that we're through with all of the necessary Sunnydale greetings and goodbyes, Buffy and Angel can start figuring out how to fight Sahjhan... _together_. I'm sad that I didn't get to write a full-on fight scene here, because I've discovered that I actually love writing them, but they shall come soon. I know Xander was a bit bratty in this chapter, but someone had to bring up Buffy's soft spot for Angel, and Xander seemed like the one to do it, what with his past feelings for Angel. That's about it, nothing much else to say, except, FINALLY, they're together again! Giles is not okay with Buffy and Angel, but he's hopeful that Angel may help recover her memory (seeing as Willow didn't have time to fill him in); I'll deal with it later.  
If you liked it, let me know. Reviews don't take long, and I love them.  
Thanks for reading!


	22. Something To Sing About

**Note:** For some reason, every time I inserted my usual chapter breaks (the *'s) they didn't save, which ran the whole thing together. I didn't realise this, but when I tried to fix it again it's blatantly refused to comply, so instead I've had to put in the more formal line breaks. Sorry about that. *Grumbles*

Okay, here's chapter twenty-two for everyone. Thanks for the reviews, favourites and alerts. Just reiterating that Buffy the Vampire Slayer is not my property, but that of Joss Whedon &etc. Don't make me dwell on it.  
Quickly; I realise that Giles being okay with, and even to some extent supporting Buffy and Angel is a bit out of character (thank you **a2zmom** for pointing it out, and pretty much being excellent - everyone go read some of her stories, they're full of Buffy/Angel goodness) but in my mind he thinks that Angel, being what he was to Buffy (and not knowing about Buffy's stay with Angel before she came back to Sunnydale due to Willow not getting around to it in their rush to get to L.A.), may help bring her memory back. This is not to say he's totally fine with it, but that's an issue that'll be dealt with later on.  
Anyway, onto the story!

* * *

"Is it done?" the preacher asked, a smirk appearing on his face as he drew his eyes to the scars he had inflicted.

Sahjhan nodded. "It is." He then indicated his face. "And don't look so proud. Does it _look _like a little more skin damage is going to make a difference?"

"Will she search for you?"

"Once the nice little dent I made in her heals, I'd say so. Slayers are odd creatures; she knew who I was. Then again, who knows, maybe she's heard of me," he added sarcastically.

The man opposite him smiled. "Yes, the dreams. A womans' mind is like a puddle; so filthy that one more drop of dirt in it is easily received, and cleansing, impossible."

"Her mind is of no concern to me," replied the demon curtly. "The only use it will provide me," he flexed his long, skeletal fingers and beared his teeth. "Is testing just how sturdy a Slayers' skull really is."

"In time."

Sahjhan sighed, an easy look that was unsuited to his features. "First I read of the child of Angelus, preparing accordingly, then you tell me of a Slayer, each destined to bring forth my downfall. I'm not exactly getting any younger, here."

"You're not exactly getting any older, either," replied Caleb dryly.

"True, but I'd like to go into the next decade with a clean slate. All who oppose me vanquished, skulls crushed to dust, no mercy shown, yadda yadda yadda."

"Time will aid you. We aren't finished yet. Daniel Holtz was of little use to you, anyway."

"Plus," added a perky, animated voice from a girl that hadn't been there a moment before. "Humans age a lot differently to you guys. Wrinkles, brittle bones, the whole shebang. If Jack had been any older, the giant would have had dust to make his bread with."

Sahjhan looked confused by the sudden appearance of the girl, and Caleb simply looked amused. The Buffy apparition shrugged her shoulders. "Just because I'm older than time itself, doesn't mean I don't read every now and then."

"You…" the demon began, having never spoken directly to it, "Are that which he serves? I'm fairly certain that the condition I left you in earlier wouldn't be defined as 'mobile'."

With a shrug, the pseudo-Slayer replied; "Nothing but magic and parlour tricks. If I showed you what I really was, I'd have to have Caleb gouge out your eyes. If you didn't do it yourself before that."

"You underestimate me," replied Sahjhan brusquely.

"Do I? Caleb," she shifted her attention to her follower, "The Slayer is the only one who can kill Sahjhan, or so the Powers," the word fell off her artificial tongue with condescending amusement, "have written. When she comes, you will aid him because," she widened her eyes and pouted, "I'm really stronger than I look!"

"It shall be done."

"You don't question this?" asked Sahjhan incredulously. "You simply obey? Boy, have the times changed."

The incorporeal guest smiled and met Calebs' eyes with an impish grin. Smirking malevolently, she asked; "Would you like me to persuade you? Caleb, if you will."

Caleb knew that there were other things that needed attending, but even so, he was more than happy to oblige and indulge in what was for him, a very leisurely activity, glad that blood never stained his black attire.

* * *

Several days of hunting and researching, an incredible amount of takeout and worrying number of coffee cups later, Wesley thought that he might have had something. Even a flicker of hope was more than he was functioning on in that moment; the caffeine pumping faithfully through his system sating his need for some shred of hope or pattern to the books he perused endlessly.

"Wes," Angel said gently, "You've been at it for days, take a break. How long since you've slept?"

"I'm fine Angel, I think I've got something," Wesley told him, keeping the drowsiness lurking in his mind at bay for long enough to read the suspect paragraph and formulate cohesive thoughts to explain it.

"Really?" the vampires' interest perked, but he approached hesitantly. He eyed the bin and floor, both littered with carelessly scattered coffee cups. "What have you got?"

Wesley shifted the book away from Angel slightly. The beginning sentence didn't sound promising for those who had opposed Sahjhan, and the last thing Wesley needed was for Angel to become enraged. "Could you get me another cup of coffee?" he asked, attempting distraction.

"Do you really…?"

"Please."

While Angel was on his coffee-run, Wesley finally located the information that he had been searching for: it detailed Sahjhan and the destiny that centered around him. As Wesley looked upon the paragraph with unease, he threw up whether to tell Angel or Buffy first. Fortunately, no decision of the like was needed as Angel returned with his coffee right on cue.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, mindlessly placing the cup on the desk.

"Yes, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

Angels' eyes darkened for a moment, but the flash was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Go on."

"Sahjhan is, without explicit details, very dangerous, and totally vicious. He's also referred to as the Timeshifter. He's a Granok demon. This species thrives on chaos and destruction, but they were made incorporeal by Wolfram and Hart. It appears that our resident lawfirm like their share of the chaos, and the Granok were not, er, so willing."

"Wait, if he's incorporeal, how did he hurt us?"

"It seems he was recorporealised. By whom, I don't know. Whether Wolfram and Hart made a deal, or... And as to why... Sahjhan may have already successfully completed everything that he needed to alter in the past and future, and may think that strength would do him more benefit against Buffy."

"How can we beat him?"

"It says here that he can be trapped within a Resikhian Urn."

Angel pointed to the phone. "How soon can you get one?"

Wesley pulled out his address book. "I'll do my best. I don't know. But Angel, there is a more important part to this. I've found a prophecy."

The vampire tried to keep his shoulders relaxed, but failed as he tensed and requested information he wasn't sure he wanted. "What is it?"

"It's about a warrior, that will," Wesley opened the book at his saved page and read aloud, "defeat Sahjhan at last." He skimmed over the specifics, deciding all he had said was enough.

"And that would be…"

"Buffy, yes."

Angel seemed unfazed by this information. "Okay, how can I kill him?"

Wesley held back a sigh that was building in his chest. This vampire could and had accomplished much, but changing and adopting prophecies was not within his reach, however much he wanted it. He admired his friend a great deal, and pitied him a great deal more, but – to his own chagrin – there was nothing to be done that Buffy didn't need to do herself. "You can't, only Buffy can. It's her destiny. I'm sure we can find ways to help, but this is still her cross to bear."

"Well, why haven't we heard about this before? The Watchers' Council? Giles? You? It can't be much of a destiny if it's never even been heard of."

"Not all prophecies come to pass. There are many of them centred around Slayers. The Council chooses its' battles, Angel."

"And she's definitely going to beat him?" Angel had moved past the inevitability and onto the specifics; somewhere Wesley didn't feel much like exploring.

"There is no 'definitely' anywhere in any of this. She can try. She has a better chance than the rest of us, certainly."

Angel kicked the desk in his frustration. "That's not good enough, Wes! This is _my_ city – that should be _my _destiny! Why should the Powers risk her life again?"

Wesley suddenly had a thought. "It could have something to do with her memory?"

Too much hope sprung into Angel's chest for his liking, and he compensated with cold stoicism. "And if it doesn't?"

"... Then I don't know."

"When's she supposed to fight him?"

"There are no time constraints." Wesley held on tight to his desk, which suffered another blow from the foot of the very angry vampire. "Could you send her up with Giles?"

Angel did as Wesley asked, Buffy and Giles entering the room moments later. "Have you found something?" said Giles, annoyed and disappointed by his own inadequate research materials, which at no point even referenced Sahjhan as anything more than a Granok demon.

"Yes. Buffys' portents appear to be correct; the Slayer is to battle Sahjhan. It says here that she's the only one with a chance of defeating him."

"A chance?" Buffy interrupted. "Like, Buckley's chance, or can I swing this thing in my favour? Because I don't exactly remember much of my training."

Wesley was confident that Buffy, memory or not, was still the strongest Slayer he had ever heard of – maybe the strongest ever. "Training with Giles beforehand might be a good idea, but, having seen your fighting both in Sunnydale _and_ L.A., I don't doubt your abilities."

"Nor I," added Giles.

"Okay, wait a minute," Angel said loudly, his tone causing everyone to look at him in alarm. "This is my city. Why wouldn't the Powers give this mission to me?"

"You do have prophecies of your own, Angel," replied Wesley.

Angel clenched his fist, willing the anger bubbling inside him to subside. This was _his_ city. It was _his_ duty. The Powers aided him in L.A. It wasn't Buffys' place. It wasn't fair. "The Slayer probably has a hundred prophecies for every one of mine. She's not doing this."

"Hey, hey," Buffy interjected heatedly. "_She's_ still here, and it's going to stay that way."

"No," Angel told her, gritting his teeth. "You're not dying again. Not in my city."

"Well, I'll tell Sahjhan to meet me in Sunnydale. I'm sure the pile of bodies that builds up on the way will be grateful for your macho territorial crap," she spat back.

"I've got to do this."

"_Got to do this_? Does it _say_ anywhere that you've got to do this? Because the last time I checked, they recruited me for the job, not you." Buffy was in a state of total disbelief. Did Angel want her gone so badly that he would try to take on her prophecy just to get her out of his city? '_His_ _city_'? Who said it was his city, anyway? Okay, so that was the Powers, but still, what right did he have to try to take her prophecy and get himself killed?

"I can try."

"You can _die_, you mean."

"You're not getting anywhere near this, Buffy." The way Angel's face held firm with steely determination both weakened her knees and boiled her blood, but in this situation the latter won.

"Wanna try and stop me?" she challenged. "_Why_ are you acting like this?"

Giles and Wesley detected – very aptly – that the two needed to talk alone, and vacated the room with their books in hand. Even in her heated argument, Buffy saw that Giles seemed disgruntled as his full hands itched towards his glasses. This made her want to chuckle.

"Because it's not fair."

"Not _fair_? Well, I'm _so_ sorry that the Powers didn't give you a share of the prophecy," she bit sarcastically. "I guess next time I'll ask them to change that, if I _remember_."

Angel looked at her in heated confusion, and Buffy found herself close to blushing, for reasons unknown. "You think I'm acting like this because I want it for _myself_?"

"Don't you? This is '_your city'_ after all." Buffy glared at him so harshly that, had the roles been reversed, she would have been highly intimidated. As it was, however, Angel stood tall. Something else appeared on him when she said that, too: it looked like he was torn between laughter and hurt.

"Buffy, no," he said, much more quietly this time. The way he spoke those two words made her feel as though they were having some sort of intimate moment. "That's not it."

"Then what gives? What's with the crazy, Angel?" she beseeched him.

"You," he replied stiffly.

"I'm going to need more info than that," she said, her voice softer. "As far as I can tell the Slayer package doesn't' include being psychic."

Angel lowered his head slightly, and shuffled a foot away from her. "You died."

"… Yeah, I did. And?"

His head shot up, the anger returning. "And? You _DIED_, Buffy. And you were _gone_, I thought forever. I can't let that happen again – I," he choked, tears compromising his ability to speak. "I can't lose you again. I can't do nothing again... I can't be useless."

"Angel…" Buffy moved closer, despite his protests. She was touched by his sincerity, and disheartened by his pain. "This is what I have to do. I can't let others die for me. It wouldn't be fair."

"_How can we be together if the cost is your life? Or the lives of others_?"

The words stumbled into his head, and Angel was overtaken by a different kind of pain: the pain of acceptance. She was right, just like he had been.

"Okay, but I think I've got a way to help."

* * *

Giles was, to say the least, exceedingly uncomfortable. The flamboyancy of the crowd was certainly nothing new to him, but the abundance of demons in the karaoke bar set off every kind of alarm instilled into him during his training at the Watcher's academy.

"What is this?" Buffy asked, studying the club carefully. "It looks like they sat back and gave Elton John free rein… And then let eccentrically dressed demons in."

"Now, now, Sugarcakes," came a voice from behind the group that contained Buffy, Angel and Giles. Wesley had been able to vouch for his entire team when he had declined the offer to watch Angel sing. "This is Elton's _fantasy_, if he could be bothered to get off his tush and make something of it. He actually came here, once," Lorne said with pride, "Well, not came here so much as visited my web page and commented on the pictures, but still, I take what I can get."

"Er, all right," Buffy replied, unsure of whether she should apologise for her possibly offensive remark. She was certain no hard feelings were borne when the green and snappily dressed demon pulled her into a friendly hug. He planted a kiss on her cheek, and she found herself instinctively wiping off lipstick that was undoubtedly not there. "I'm Buffy," she introduced, when Angel didn't. She had introduced herself so many times during the last few months that this had become second nature to her. A smile, a nod, a handshake, maybe a hug, then move on.

"Honey buns, I know who you are," Lorne said. Well, that would explain the intimate greeting. "Has Angel-cakes told you about my all access pass into your cute little noggin?" Buffy tried not to think anything that she wouldn't want a stranger knowing, and as a result thought everything that she didn't want to think. A blush coloured her face and Lorne chuckled. "I'm an empath demon. I read your destiny when you sing."

"Sing?" Buffy squeaked nervously. She shot Angel an accusatory stare. "You didn't say anything about singing!"

Angel shrugged resignedly. "I'm not happy about it either."

"And who's this?" Lorne inquired, examining Giles, who was standing to the side looking very out of place. "You look like you've got a set of pipes on you, fancy giving the ol' horn a blow? There's a free sea breeze in it for you, if I like what I hear."

Giles looked confused, but accepted. It had been too long since he'd been able to perform in public – too long since he'd been inspired to. He spotted a beautiful Gibson glimmering in the corner and longed to brush his fingers over the strings.

"Do you play?" Lorne asked, noticing Giles eyeing his guitar. When Giles said that he did, Lorne picked up the guitar, handed it to the Watcher and Giles began to strum. It was perfectly in tune.

"May I?" asked Giles, heading towards the now empty stage.

"Knock yourself out," Lorne told him. "But not literally. No violence rule here."

Giles smiled and strummed the introduction to a song that Buffy didn't recognise.

"Er, hello everyone," Giles began. Buffy could see that despite his nervousness he was glad to be up on the stage. "This is a little something I wrote several months ago." Everyone clapped and the lights dimmed. Giles looked down at his guitar and began to strum. The chords were soft and peaceful; they were lovely, and they put Buffy at ease.

"_I never wanted to be the man I am today, _

'_Cause I was gonna be a pilot or a grocer someday, _

_And when they told me to, I simply said 'No way, _

_You can't make me.'_

He had a wonderful voice, and when he sang she felt a broad smile crack onto her face. "Did he write this?" she asked Lorne, who nodded and shushed her simultaneously.

"'_Because I've chosen my path and it doesn't include,  
_

_Wearing uniforms and listenin' to the likes of you,__  
_

_You won't change me_.'

_What I didn't realise…_" he strummed, pausing, "_What I didn't see,_

_"Is you're the best damn thing that could have happened to me. So I wanted to thank you_," he sung more loudly, easing into the chorus.

_"For teaching me how, to battle my demons, with all that I've seen you're,  
_

_Still the strongest shining light. So I wanted to thank you."_

"It's beautiful," Buffy whispered to Angel, her fingers itching to make contact with his.

"It is," he murmured back, so quietly that if she hadn't had preternatural hearing she would have missed it, even with the silent bar that was in awe of her Watcher.

"_In every way, you're like a daughter to me,_

_And I couldn't be prouder of the person I see."_

Buffy felt tears in her eyes, and a small, emotional sob escaped her lips. She saw Angel's head turn, just a fraction, and then his fingers brushed against hers. It was a brief touch, but she knew it had been intentional. As she heard Giles' song begin to slow more and finish, she became worried. How would she top that? How was she supposed to even compete in the same _league_ as a heartfelt song her Watcher wrote himself?

"… _So I wanted to thank you._"

Applause burst from the audience, practically shaking the structure of the building itself.

"I'll go up next. You'll look much better by comparison," Angel muttered over the cacophony, and Buffy sighed in relief.

"Okay." Buffy grimaced. "…You didn't write your own song too, did you?"

Angel simply laughed, parting a crowd of particularly awed demons who were gathering to congratulate Giles and shake his hands. When one of them reached for and stroked the side of his face, he excused himself and made his way over to Buffy, who was trying very hard not to laugh. Deciding that her efforts were better spent, she guffawed at her Watchers' misfortune and the inhuman symbols that had been scribbled onto napkins and shoved in his directions.

"I think ET has a crush on you." Buffy laughed, pointing to a demon waggling it's fingers at the ex-librarian, trying to stifle it now that the lights dimmed and it was Angel's turn to sing.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Giles scolded her. "It's… It's not an extra-terrestrial."

Shelving her light heartedness for a moment, Buffy said; "Giles, that was beautiful."

"Thank you," he replied quietly, not allowing himself to say any more in case he gave himself over to his emotions.

On the stage Angel scuffed one foot against the other in his nervousness – an act that suited his size very ill. A guitar sounded from the speakers and Angel waited for his prompt on the screen; he had heard this song but a few times before, and it seemed appropriate. "_Touched; you say that I am too._

_So much, of what you say is true. _

_I'll never, find someone quite like you, again, _

_I'll never, find someone quite like you, again_."

Angel sung the words as though he was speaking them to the blonde girl sitting in the audience directly. He was well aware that his voice was awful, but he managed to half speak, half sing the words and warp them so that the meaning behind them wasn't lost in the face of such awful vocalism.

"_The razors and the dying roses, plead I don't leave you alone, _

_The demi-gods, and hungry ghosts, _

_God, God knows I'm not at home. _

_I'll never, find someone quite like you, again, _

_I'll never, find someone quite like you, again."_

Buffy kept her eyes level with Angels' as he sung her the words that she knew were for her.

"_I, I looked into your eyes, _

_And saw, a world that does not exist… _

_I looked into your eyes and saw, _

_A world I wish I was in." _

Angel didn't think he could have found any more fitting words if he had written them himself. He would always remember the world they had lost. Maybe it existed somewhere, in an alternate world of simple choices and straightforward decisions.

"_I'll never, find someone quite as touched, as you. _

_I'll never, love someone quite the way, that I, _

_Love you." _

The speakers faded the music, and Angel stood on the stage for a moment while the wholly unimpressed crowd clapped politely. It didn't matter what they thought, though. He promptly made his way down the steps at the right of the stage and back to the only person whose reaction mattered.

Buffy grinned broadly, even more so than when Giles had sung. "That was…"

Lorne eyed the two. "Absolutely scrumptious. Usually I'm not one for a serving of Angel-pie when any kind of melody is included, but that, kids, was a performance. It had… What's the word I'm looking for?" Lorne beamed at both of them, and Buffy knew that he had read something important. "It had… It had…

"_Soul_."

* * *

Lorne had taken them each aside, individually. He thought it would be best, and he was right. There were certain things that each was not meant to know. Buffy – being the most recent – was still fresh on his mind, so he chose her first. "Follow me, lamb."

Buffy obliged, following two steps behind Lorne as he led her to a seat in the corner. The empath was unable to miss the way that – as he spoke – her eyes flickered towards where her Watcher and Angel were seated, the two of them radiating the most hostile and out of place vibes that Lorne had ever witnessed.

"Now, suppose you're wondering what I saw on the big ol' roadmap of life? Which, by the way, you should consider pitching to a network, because I only got the recent screening, and from that alone they'd eat it up."

"Uh… Okay," Buffy agreed. Was she here to be told that her destiny entailed remaking her life on the small screen?

Lorne chuckled. "That was simple commentary, not actually in the script. This thing you're gonna face… It's a big deal, huge deal. Pivotal. And, despite what Tall, Dark and Handsome thinks, it's not a one-size fits all deal. This is yours only sweetie, and you gotta wear it. Now that doesn't mean that you can't get by with a little help from your friends, but when it comes down to it it's all on you, princess… And I daresay the light at the end of this proverbial tunnel is well worth the weight you'll have to bear."

Buffy nodded. "Can I beat him?"

"You can give it your best."

"Is there… Anything else?"

"I hate to ruin a good Hollywood cliché, but I've pretty much gotta wrap it up with a 'follow your heart'."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. But, that being said…" Lorne hesitated, fearing that he was about to give some bad advice.

"… Yeah?" Buffy said, already standing.

"Don't… Don't be afraid to follow your fists either."

Buffy gave him a reassuring smile. "Absolutely one hundred percent not a problem."

"No, I didn't think so," Lorne replied with an amused smile.

* * *

Angel watched Buffy closely. Her expression varied little; a collected calm gracing it for most of the conversation. There were occasions where her eyes would wander towards him, but they would flicker back so quickly that – had he not been alone (with Giles slinking off to avoid a particularly inspired group of demons) – he would have been uncertain if it was actually him she was looking at, or if her eyes were just wandering out of boredom. She stood at last, and with one final sentence she walked away and signalled for Angel to proceed. It was time to face his destiny. Again.

* * *

Buffy watched Angel closely. His expression varied very little, but what else was new? His eyes seemed to gravitate towards her own, if only for a split second. It comforted her, looking into those chocolate brown orbs. She was entranced. Her trance was broken when she heard Giles nervously stuttering behind her a minute or so later.

"No, no! I'm quite alright with this, I assure you, and I'm here with someone." She turned to investigate and was presented with Giles holding up a sea breeze to a crestfallen purple demon.

A crestfallen purple _male_ demon.

"You have a wonderful voice," the demon told her Watcher, who thanked him awkwardly and tried to turn the other way without being rude outright.

She wolf whistled in his direction as loudly as possible, then excused herself to the bathroom as quickly as her Slayer speed would allow. She decided not to come out for some time, choosing instead to wait in the stall, overcome with fits of giggles at a level so hysterical that she hadn't seen them since she was fourteen.

* * *

For Lorne the Watcher was the easiest; his path was closely linked to his Slayers', and required little encryption. He got the two more difficult ones out of the way first, and saved the easiest for last.

"Okay padre, there's only one thing you're going to need to remember, and from what I saw in that talented package of yours it won't be hard anyway; stick by your Slayer. There are murky waters ahead, my English friend, and she's going to need you. You're going to have to lead her back onto her path."

"Yes: her path," Giles said, "Would her path happen to… intersect, any other paths?" He threw a worried glance towards Angel. "Because in the past the results have been catastrophic, to say the least."

Lorne smiled mysteriously and shook his head. "Wouldn't want to spoil the ending, would we?"

* * *

**Authors Note**: Do not own the song 'Touched' by Jon Crosby (VAST), it's solely their property and very much not mine.

Well, that was fun. Giles had his chance to put on a show, and is already receiving… attention. *Giggle* Yes, there is a reason that I haven't put in Angels' destiny. Also, I have _no_ idea why, but I don't think I've ever mentioned Lorne in this fic; I think I just forgot, which is crazy, because Lorne is excellent. I'd originally planned for this to be a really serious chapter, but then I figured, 'why have serious, when you can have karaoke?' Also, I listened to the song 'Touched' by Jon Crosby (or the band VAST), which is what Angel sung, and it seemed fitting, so obviously I needed an excuse to put it into the story. Especially fitting was the part about the world he wished he was in, or so I think. Also, they needed to know what paths to take, so Lorne and Caritas seemed like a good option. Oh, and before I forget to say it, Caritas is still very much up and running in my little AU because obviously Holtz didn't throw the grenades and gasoline cans etc. down there.  
I did, however, write the song Giles sung. I know it wasn't very good, but it was a last minute thing, so please forgive.  
If you liked it, let me know? Reviews make my day.  
Thanks for reading!


	23. With Faith, Part I

Okay, firstly, let me begin with sincere apologies as to the lack of updates. I had this chapter written about a month ago, but my computer conveniently decided that blue was it's new favourite colour. May I just say that I _hate_ blue screens?  
Anyway, this chapter isn't completely finished, so it'll be a two parter, I just wanted to get _something_ uploaded. You may not understand some of this just yet, but it'll all make sense in time. The reason I'm able to upload this is that I'm on my brothers laptop (which I've "borrowed"), so no, my computer isn't back online. Updates will be less frequent, but there won't be another two-month dry spell.  
If you enjoy this chapter, please leave a review. They're excellent, and my muse's ego is somewhat damaged after two months of no posting.

* * *

"Lorne," Angel began, slamming a tattered piece of paper onto the bar irritably. "There's nothing. The source you gave me dried up."

Lorne looked sympathetically at Angel, still managing to mix a drink under the bar without glancing at it once.

"Maybe there's a reason for that, Angelcakes. This is one of those things you gotta let play out. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be. The source I gave you could help, but only if it was meant to. You gotta roll with the punches. Or lack thereof, apparently."

"Why won't you help me?" he demanded, becoming even more frustrated. Angel took the glass of pigs' blood that Lorne handed to him and resumed his irritated pacing.

Lorne sighed, taking a swig from an unfinished mixture. "Because I'm not meant to. I can't go around telling every Tom, Dick and Nancy how to solve all their problems in a heartbeat—or, without one—just because they can. There's an order for these things, and yours isn't up yet. The problem with these prophecies is that they've gotta happen, and _you've _gotta let them. It's like the Shanshu; I could tell you how to make yourself human right now—spells, sacrifices, chants, payments to Gods of every species and texture—but it wouldn't be the right way. There's a reason it's written the way it is—this ain't no draft sweetie, it's the hardbound published-for-sale-at-your-local-retailer book of how the future is meant to be. You've got faith in the Slayer, I know you do. It was one of the first things I saw when I read you, so why are you trying so hard to keep her away from this?" Lorne surveyed Angel seriously. "You know she can do it. So why?"

Angel shook his head, ignoring the impatient line of patrons that was building up behind him. "I'm not trying to keep her away from this. I'm trying to keep her away from me. I'm too close to being..."

"Happy?"

[]

Buffy surveyed the street, tuning her Slayer senses and trying to detect any sort of danger. The closest thing she had found to abnormal in the streets she was lurking (besides herself) was a dog-sized rat. Regardless, the Slayer was in total battle mode. No stopping her now; absolutely ready for anything the infamous streets of L.A. had to throw at her—stake in one hand, fist at the ready.

"Come on L.A.," she hummed under her breath, to the tune of 'Come On Eileen'.

L.A., it appeared, felt inclined to oblige her musical talents. A womanly scream sounded a moment later and a well-built man barrelled down the street towards her. Promptly stopping the man by hitting his nose with her fist, she grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Where's the girl?" Buffy demanded, keeping her fist elevated, ready to strike.

The man looked shell-shocked, nursing his injured nose. "What girl?"

"Don't play dumb, I heard her screaming a second ago."

The man, who a second ago had been looking afraid, now looked embarrassed. "That was um, me."

Buffy lowered her fist and changed her demeanour in regards to the man who was, apparently, the victim. "...Oh."

"That's some right hook you've got," he commented in awe, standing up straight and revealing that he was at least a foot and a half taller than the Slayer. He looked her over several times, as though expecting some sort of steroid-ridden monster instead of the small girl who had done his nose serious damage.

Buffy could think of no explanation that would fail to embarrass him further. "I'm sorry about that, I just thought you were..."

"It's okay," he assured her, presumably eager to forget that their encounter had ever happened.

"So what happened?" Buffy asked, returning to her original point. On closer inspection, this man looked about her age; early to mid-twenties, tall, blue eyes, short, brown hair, overly friendly. Aside from the girlish scream, this guy was what she would have deemed handsome.

"Something... was chasing me," was all he said, beginning to pale once more.

Buffy lead him towards a sheltered bus-stop, taking a seat and telling him to do the same. "What was chasing you? I'm Buffy, by the way."

"Eric," he replied, placing his hand out to shake hers.

"Look," she said after a pregnant pause and a handshake. "I know this is going to sound weird, but the thing that was chasing you…"

"There was something wrong with its' face." He lifted his hand to demonstrate, brushing his unsteady fingertips against his swollen nose and eyebrows. "It was real crazy… Bumpy, I guess."

Buffy looked sombrely at the man sitting next to her, but before she could draw her next breath he said, "That was a monster, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Vampire."

Eric placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, whistling. "Wow. Vampires. My brother told me this city was crazy—I didn't believe him. Do they… Are they only here? Can I leave?"

Buffy saw the desperation in Eric's eyes, and pitied him. "They're… Not just here. They're everywhere, but it's not that hard to avoid them. Like," Buffy swept her hand in the general direction of the alley. "Dark alleys? Not so much of the good."

Although Eric didn't respond for a minute, Buffy knew that he wasn't ready for her to leave yet.

"Are you sure this is real?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

"Yeah…" Buffy smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"Wow. Just, wow. It's like someone mushed a horror movie and an episode of Punk'd together." A thought occurred to Eric, and he grinned. "I've never been a damsel in distress before."

Buffy smiled. "How's it feel to be _Damsel'd_?"

"Well, you're no Ashton Kutcher, but you'll do," he laughed.

A crash sounded in the distance, undoubtedly a car backfiring or a garbage lid being slammed down with excessive zeal, and suddenly the spell was broken. The pleasantness that hung in the air evaporated as mysteriously as it had appeared, and Eric looked at Buffy seriously.

"There's something wrong with me," said Eric.

Buffy resumed her previous concern, searching for something conspicuously monster-like. "What is it?"

"Her."

[]

Wesley had fought enough demons in his time that the sight of a vampire barely caused his heart rate to accelerate, and with appropriate preparation the same could be said for a demon. He no longer feared the large, bulky men that looked sideways at him when he walked down the street with an archaic weapon in tow.

As he stood before the Womens' Penitentiary however, his heart rate spiked and brow furrowed. He propelled himself forward and ignored the feeling of dread that seemed eager to make itself known.

Walking into the poorly lit lobby, he greeted the woman at the front desk. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy, ginger bun and the scarring on her face made her look like a prime candidate for habitation in the cell, rather than the meet-and-greet face at the lobby.

"Wesley Wyndam-Price," he said, scribbling his name down into the sign-in book. "I need to see a prisoner."

"Print the name here," she replied in a bored, monotone, pointing a claw-like nail at the empty space beside where Wesley had written his name.

"_Faith Lehane._"

[]

Wesley took a seat as directed and heard a buzzing sound accompany one of locks opening. The lights flickered forbodingly and the inmate let through walked despondently to the steel chair waiting for her. She seemed to pick up her step as soon as he was in view, as though to broadcast how well she was

"Wesley," Faith muttered in disbelief. The effects of prison were plain on her face, with a worn look far beyond her years painted onto her features. She picked up the black phone on the table, and indicated for the ex-Watcher to do the same. "I'll be damned."

"Faith, hello," he greeted. Although he hadn't forgotten about their last encounter, the matter at hand was far more important. He smiled, refusing to betray the trace of fear left inside the wounds he still bore when he looked into the other Slayers' brown eyes. He wasn't sure whether or not he was surprised about her absence of cockiness. The fiery girl who did what she wanted seemed to be somewhere else, though he knew that - since she had survived in prison - she wasn't gone completely. "I'm fine. Great, actually. It's Buffy we're worried about."

Faith looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Wesley mirrored her features. "She's got a slight case of memory loss." Wesley waited for her to enquire further, but for a minute she said nothing. The planes of her face showed an unnatural number of emotions until she picked up the phone she had placed on the table seconds ago. Wesley was tempted to speak, but held his tongue.

Faith looked confused for a minute, calculating her words. She sat upright, trying to detect any signs that she was being duped. "What… Did you say?"

"Buffy needs your help. I know that the two of you have had your share of animosity, but this is much larger than the two of you."

"… Wes," she spoke more quietly, in a truly bewildered manner. Wesley also heard the undertones of pain so well hidden to anyone who hadn't known the old Faith. "Isn't Buffy…

"Isn't she dead?"

[]

"... Dead?" Wesley repeated, confused. "Certainly not. Why -" he halted mid-sentence, comprehending her meaning.

Faith shrugged disinterestedly. Wesley could see through the act, but chose not to call her on it. She was hurt that they hadn't told her; he supposed that the other Slayer thought that Angel coming to inform her of Buffy's death meant that she had gained some sort of international forgiveness among the groups. "Well, the last time I spoke to Angel he told me my Slayer sis was six feet under, and judging from Slayer history we Slayers tend to stay that way.

"Unless," she remedied, seeing the mistake in her previous statement. "Your name is Buffy…Which is how I was called in the first place."

Wesley nodded. "Her friends in Sunnydale had some... difficulty, managing on their own."

"Yeah, can't imagine Dawnie stepping up to the plate in place of her saviour," she said in an offhand manner. When Wesley shot her a look that only a Watcher could, she stayed silent.

"It wasn't easy for any of them," Wesley said, rejecting the slight distaste that dripped from Dawn's name when spoken by Faith. "They did the best they could. As did Angel."

"Well, as much as I love a walk down memory lane Wes, there's a reason you're here, and I'm betting it's not so you can flash me the family album and hand me all the Christmas cards you sent that just never got delivered." Faith propped her feet up on the desk, shooting him a look that told him very plainly to get to the point.

"I'm sorry, am I keeping you from a prior appointment?" he shot back, regretting his lack of restraint instantly. He was there to ask for help, insulting a Slayer with several years of pent-up rage struck him as a bad idea for all involved, namely the softer parts of his easily bruised exterior.

Faiths' expression twisted into one of wry amusement. "I guess I can reschedule the manipedi."

"Alright. I'm here to ask for your help," he said, standing up and reaching into his pocket for the Nyazian scroll.

"I know you never had much luck with the ladies, but a conjugal visit? I'm flattered, but no thanks," Faith interjected, looking amused.

Wesley pressed the paper up against the glass. "Buffy has lost her memory. This," he tapped the place where Sahjhan was depicted, "Is the culprit. We are unsure of why you haven't lost your memory, as it mentions a Slayer, and technically speaking-"

"I'm the Slayer of the month?"

"Essentially, yes, what I've concluded indicates that yours should have been the destiny altered to accomodate the destiny. But that's not why I'm here." At Faith's still more interested look, he proceeded. "She has no memory of her training, and another Slayer - regardless of history - could be exceedingly beneficial to her recov-"

Faith stood suddenly, taking a seat when the guards made a move to restrain her. "No way," she said in a hushed voice. "Little Buff with no memory? That's a sight I'd kill to see."

"We're hoping it won't come to that," replied Wesley promptly, pocketing the scroll. "Not for you, anyway. It will be Buffy's job to fight Sahjhan, but we'll need your help."

"Wesley," muttered Faith, still placed calmly in her seat with the phone in her hand. "Step away from the glass."


	24. With Faith, Part II

Okay, here's the second part of 'With Faith'. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a three parter, and I fear that we may even be nearing the ending. I've got five more chapters of reasonable legnth in me, but I doubt there will be any more than that. I know that I've been MIA lately; family and schoolwork have causes trials and tribulations (along with a broken computer) that have made writing any more and getting it posted next to impossible. But my exams are over, and I have a computer that I can actually sneak onto every now and then! Thanks for everyone who's stuck with me.

* * *

"Keep her away from you?" Lorne repeated incredulously. "Did I miss a chapter in this long and sordid affair that is your love life, or is our little Slayer not currently camped out in your one-million-room-and-somehow-still-too-small-to-hold-all-your pent-up-sexual-tension Mansion O' Love?"

"Well, yeah. But it can't keep going on like this. I can't keep feeling like this every second we're in a room together… It's going to tear me apart. Or tear the soul right out of me."

Lorne propped his arm up on the bar and looked intently at the vampire - a technique that he had mastered when trying to coax an answer out of a patron. "Feelin' like what, sugarplum?"

"Like my heart's beating again."

Lorne sighed. "I'm gonna get in a lot of trouble for this. The guys upstairs are not going to be happy, but what the heck."

"Happy about what?"

Shifting his weight from one elbow to another, Lorne proceeded. "You know my spiel about the order of things?"

"I like to think I know it pretty well."

After looking falsely indignant for a moment, the Empath demon nodded in agreement. "Well, it's really more of a... shtick. It's not cheating, either. Things have changed, and now there's a way…" Lorne trailed off, glancing to his left.

"Lorne, I may be immortal, but I'd like you to finish this sentence before my outfit goes out of style."

The Host waved a hand dismissively. "Bubba, please, black on black never goes out of style. But to the less material and more important point; people have been talking. Loudly. What I told you before, what I read, it was only the beginning. There's a reason that Buffy's the one who lost her memory, and not the technically elected Slayer sittin' in her own cosy cell the other side of this here City of Angels. Turns out they were only interested in the one, specifically. She's gonna change things."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked sharply, recognising the words that Whistler had said to him when the two of them had looked in at an institultionalised Buffy.

"It's you. You're the hinge. The deadbolt, excuse the pun. You're–"

Angel furrowed his brow, and Lorne could see the words coming before he heard them. "- The reason that she lost her memory in the first place?"

"It's not my place to tell you that. That's not what they've been talking about. Don't go askin' for specifics, 'cause I can't give what I ain't got, but there's talk, somethin' about a consolation prize for the cast and crew of this big ol' performance."

"And that's a _really _roundabout way of saying…"

"Buffy's not the only one who wins in this deal. You get something too. For participation."

"Okay, what do I get? Is it refundable?"

Lorne smiled cheekily. "This is definitely not what I would call refundable."

"What is it?" he demanded, growing legitimately impatient.

"Honestly?" Lorne took a deep breath, muttering something about trouble. "As far as I can tell, you get Buffy."

[]

"So what's the story, Giles?" Cordy asked, flicking listlessly through a book that had proved to be useless about twenty pages ago. "You went back to England after... For what?"

Giles accepted the book she handed to him and passed her a new one. "No good?"

"Well, if you want to know how to infect the masses with warts in places I don't even want to think about, I'm sure it's just what we need."

"Yes, alright," he said, not feeling inclined to press for more details. "I, uh, went back to England after Buffy's death." Giles had long been able to say the words, feeling as though there was some sort of anaesthesia on his tongue that made him numb to it. "Where I re-established my old home, caught up with a few friends, even helped the council, indirectly at least. A short time ago, Willow called. Needless to say I came back as soon as I could."

"Bummer. How'd the council take the Buffy-revival tour '02? I don't remember a Welcome Home party or a basket of baked goods arriving at any point."

"They were never informed of her death. We were more than capable of taking care of Sunnydale, and frankly, the less involvement from the council, the better. No one was of a mind to cope with it, and the council was... Smug, and the thought of my obeying their orders."

"Is that the council Wesley used to be a part of?" Fred asked, pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose again.

"The very same," said Giles with obvious distaste.

Cordy made a move to fold a page, but placed a stray piece of paper in it instead under the heat Giles' withering gaze. "Wow, I forgot how much I DON'T miss those guys."

"My sentiments exactly," Giles agreed, opening a new book. Before he could become too engulfed in it, someone called up the stairs.

"I'll check it out," Cordy said, glad to have an excuse to cease research for a little while. "You guys hang here. Don't crack any age-old mysteries while I'm gone." She headed out the door. A moment later Giles and Fred heard her say, "On second thought, do."

[]

"Dont kill her!" Eric yelled, looking stricken.

Buffy panted, holding onto her stake but choosing not to end the demon in her grip with it. If this pseudo-vampire really was stalking Eric, then there had to be a reason for it, and the likelihood of Buffy discovering it was much more possible when faced with a demon than it was a pile of dust or plasma. Although she hadn't killed the demon, she had certainly done it some damage. The thing was limp by her side, her small fingers holding onto the scruff of its' feminine neck. She turned her head and examined it, trying to discern what exactly it was.

Upon closer inspection, she could see that it wasn't a vampire; its' incisors were blunt and during the fleeting spar she had felt that it had half the strength of one. The bumpiness around the nose and forehead was similar, but these were accompanied by bumps on all of the major glands, like some sort of internal clotting. She pretended not to find Eric's objection to its' death suspicious, saying, "Why not?"

"I need to know... What it is," he choked, seeming more exhausted than Buffy was. She could practically hear the adrenaline pumping through his veins. "How it knows so much about me. What if there are more of them?"

Buffy nodded, accepting but not completely trusting the reasonable response. "This isn't a vampire, unless they released a newer model and forgot to mention it at the Slayer Convention. Could be a zombie, though."

"The what convention? A _zombie_?" Eric replied, confused.

"Never mind. Come with me," she commanded. When he hesitated, she rolled her eyes. "Please. Do you think I just beat the hell out of this thing so I could finish you myself?"

"Uh..."

Buffy pulled the zombie into a firmer grip and lifted Eric to his feet, trying to seem reassuring. "Just because I punched you in the face, doesn't mean I don't want to help you. It's my motto."

Eric didn't seem to appreciate being pulled along by a suspiciously strong woman down a dark alley, and before they could take another step towards the Hyperion he halted and stubbornly refused to move. Although Buffy knew that she could have moved him, it seemed to send the wrong message.

"How can you help me?"

Buffy pointed a free finger towards the demon. "Well, there's the muscle aspect. In the Stephen King's, there's always muscle. Plus, I got friends in dead places who can probably help."

"Do you do this a lot?" Eric asked, cautiously proceeding forward of his own will. "Help people?"

Buffy looked wistful, wishing she could answer that question with any sort of certainty. "I used to."

[]

"What do you mean, I 'get' Buffy?" Angel gaped. "That... That's not even near specific enough to be anywhere inside the bracket of helpful. And you won't tell me what to do – if you're going to drop something like this on me, why wouldn't you tell me what I have to do to get it?"

"Well, it's a nice change of pace to see your Slayer bringing out the chatterbox in you, but I'm gonna have to make like an eight ball and tell you to ask again later. Just remember what you know."

"I know how easy it is to crush a demon skull with the brute force of my hands," he growled.

Lorne seemed unfazed by Angel's threat, polishing a glass with the same calmness he had been all night. "You know, even immortals can get wrinkles. All that frowning? Not good for your melanin-deprived skin."

"That's just changing the subject. You still haven't..." Angel brushed his hand against his forehead self consciously. "You think so?"

"Maybe. As the times, they are a' changin', so is your skin. The Ozone layer isn't what it used to be, either. Pretty soon you'll be getting moon-burn."

Angel thought for a moment, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, there was this one guy, Heinrich..."

[]

"Turn left here," said Buffy, still dragging the hefty body under her arm and turning onto the pathway that lead them to the Hyperions' front doors. "You know," she grunted as she jerked the body through the doorway, "The real gentlemen usually carry the unconscious dead thing for the lady saving their spine."

"Hey," Eric defended, lifting a bloody three pronged sword. "I got_ this_."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a regular Edward Lewis," she grumbled offhandedly, pointing to the couch and going into an alcove of the house. "Stay here a minute, I've gotta show this sleeping beauty to her penthouse and minifridge."

"If I'm Edward Lewis, does that mean you're Julia Roberts?" Eric asked with a teasing grin.

"_Now_ you choose to put your sense of humour back in?"

Eric took a seat at the couch that Buffy pointed to, crossing his arms. "Maybe I'm finally over the fact that you assaulted me."

"And saved your life!"

"Okay," Eric conceded. "Thank you for that."

Buffy nodded curtly and made her way down to the basement. As her foot hit the third step, the thing under her arm suddenly became conscious and jerked away from her, sending Buffy tumbling down the stairs. She gripped the animated corpse as hard she could and closed her eyes, just as everything went black.

[]

Angel returned to the Hyperion in the highest spirits he had been in for a long while. He had quickly failed to stop the hope bubbling inside of him, embracing it instead. His soul felt secure inside of him, but the prospect of a day coming when he wouldn't need to worry about it was enough to shake his usually sombre demeanor. He parked his car and all-but bounded inside with a good feeling that Giles and Buffy had made some headway concerning Sahjhan.

"Wes, are you back yet?" Angel called. "Cordy? Gunn? Buffy? Giles?"

"Hi," an unfamiliar voice said from its' place on the couch in the lobby.

"Hi," responded Angel politely, quashing his automatic reaction to pounce on the person his mind automatically deemed as an intruder. "I'm sorry, business hours are over. We can help you if you come back tomorrow." He cast a glance to the door. Angel figured if the man had managed to get in unassisted then he mustn't have been a vampire, although he warily kept in mind that demons were exempt to the rule.

"I'm here with Buffy," the guest informed him, shifting nervously. "Have you seen her? She told me to wait here about twenty minutes ago – hasn't come back yet."

A date. Was Buffy on a date? Sure, the fates and gypsy curses had always meant that the two of them could never be together, but what if the clincher was as simple as Buffy not feeling the same way? Not wanting to be tied down to a vampire? All of Angel's buried insecurities rose from their coffins are surely as he had, leaving a bloody trail of doubt in their wake.  
Angel tried to think of a subtle way to ask what Eric was doing with Buffy. "Uh, okay. And you are..."

"I'm Eric McCormac," he said, offering his outstretched hand. Angel shook it for a moment before pulling back and saying that he would try to find Buffy. "She went that way," Buffy's possible date aimed a hand at the basement.

"Thanks," Angel mumbled. Pushing open the door, his hand found the light switch was already flicked on and the dank, basement already illuminated. "Buffy?" he called, venturing further down the stairs.

"Ngghhhhh," a disoriented Slayer replied. "Angel? Is that you?"

Angel rushed the entire way down the stairs, missing four at a time in his haste. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine. I've got company," said Buffy, who was on the ground nursing a bleeding arm. She jerked her head to her left. "Over there." Angel followed her gaze and met with a crumpled, malodorous figure. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me what she is."

"Well, I can already tell that she's one thing," began Angel, grinning ominously.

"What?" Buffy lifted herself so that she was sitting, trying not to respond to Angel's grin.

"Clumsy." Buffy rolled her eyes, and Angel continued on a more serious tone. "There's also a guy upstairs..."

"Eric!" Buffy smacked her palm against her forehead – which, a second later, she realised was a bad idea, looking queasy for a moment and then regaining her composure. Angel held her shoulders steadily and helped her up. "He was the one playing hide and seek with our houseguest. Could you get her chained up? I'd better go see him."

"So he's not..."

Buffy turned around from the stairs she was heading up. "Not what?"

"... Your date?"

Buffy shook her head, chuckling. "Do you ever listen to Lorne?"

Angel did a double take, spitting out a sharp, "What?"

Facing her back to him and walking upstairs, she said, "Nothing."

[]

"Angel?" called Cordy, descending the stairs. "You here?"

Cordy stopped in her tracks before she reached the foot of the staircase, eyeing a still figure in the lobby. "Uh, excuse me?"

The figure – who turned out to be a tall, attractive man, looked surprised and clumsily looked Cordy over in a way that she definitely wouldn't have categorised as subtle. "Business hours are..."

"Over, I know," he interrupted, a smile breaking onto his face. "Seems like the company motto."

"Actually the company motto has more to do with hacking and... Never mind. So, you said someone already spoke to you?"

"Yeah." The man quickly introduced himself as Eric, and informed Cordy that he was being helped by Buffy.

Cordy nodded, satisfied. "Okay, so where'd she go?" Eric pointed to the door to the basement, Buffy emerging just as Cordy was entering.

"Looking for Angel?" she asked.

Cordy nodded again. "Heard him a minute ago."

"He's down there, showing off his chain collection."

Cordy grimaced, caught somewhere between distaste and laughter. "I'm in a bad visual place."

Buffy laughed, comprehending an alternative meaning. "... Oh. Not good."

"You got someone in the lobby, by the way. Tall, dark, not bad to look at."

"Yeah, I sorta accidentally left him waiting. Kind of a side effect of falling down a flight of stairs."

"At least you know you can't do anymore to your brain," Cordy teased with a serious tone that only she could truly pull off.

Buffy shrugged, tapping her index against her temple. "Like a steel trap." For a second, she looked thoughful. "Have I said that before?"

"Don't think so," Cordy half-replied, heading down the stairs and leaving Buffy, who wore a very confused expression.

When he heard Cordy's footsteps, Angel looked up from chaining the demon to the wall. "Now call me old fashioned, but don't we usually bury those? Or keep them, y'know, horizontal?"

"She's not dead. I mean, she looks dead, but not _dead_ dead."

"Gotta say, you're looking a lot more durable than King Tut."

Angel half-smiled. "Glad to hear it. And it's a woman."

"How do you know?"

Angel held up a linked, silver chain. "Besides the fact that it looks like a woman, I think I can speak for the entire male population in saying that I wouldn't be caught dead in this."

"That metaphor doesn't really work for you."

"It does if I never intend to wear it."

Cordy stepped closer, grabbing the bracelet. "Does it say anything on the chain?"

"I didn't check yet," he said, handing it over. Perusing the smooth, silver back of the largest part of the bracelet, Cordelia squinted and tried to make out the italic writing printed on it. "What's it say?" Angel asked.

Cordy's face twisted with confusion. "This was some random mummy girl?"

"I think so, yeah. More of a zombie, really. Mummy's are a whole different thing. I faced a mummy once..." Angel trailed off, eyes glazing over and focusing into the distance.

Cordy continued forcefully, snapping him out of his reverie. "And that guy upstairs, his name is Eric?"

"Yeah. Does it say something about him?"

"Yes, along with something else." Angel looked like he was going to tell her to hurry up, but when he saw her expression he wisely said nothing of the like. "What is it?"

"I don't know. It says 'pray-ter moores', or something. 'Eric' is inscribed underneath."

Angel looked much more alarmed, taking the bracelet back, his eyes scanning over it several times.

Cordy was eager to know what had him so interested."What does it mean?"

"'Praeter mors.' It's Latin. It means 'beyond death.'"

[]

Buffy rushed to the lobby, hoping that Eric hadn't left yet. He hadn't. "I'm so sorry I took so long," she said contritely, still rubbing the lump on her head that would be gone soon enough. "Your zombie and I had a bit of a disagreement. I wanted to stay upright, she didn't."

"Oh." Eric looked extremely uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. Are you hurt?"

Buffy shook her head. "Fit as an extremely fit fiddle. So, how can I help you? You told me not to kill her, but..."

A voice that didn't belong to Eric replied, "You can start with a hug for an old bud, B!"

Buffy turned around, coming face to face with a girl she didn't recognise. "Can help you?"

Angel and Cordelia emerged from the basement before any sort of response was given, and Cordy stood in awe for a moment, before saying, "Oh. Faith. How's the not murdering people going?"

Wesley turned towards Angel, indicating to Faith. "Angel, I would have told you, but you were so busy with Sahjhan -"

"I understand," Angel responded. Everyone in the room looked on in confusion, gauging the two. Eventually, Angel offered the closest thing he had to a smile and pulled Faith into a brotherly hug. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you in better shape," Faith countered. "NOT," she grinned, "That your shape wasn't fine before."

"Thanks," said Angel, not at all interested in recollecting the events that necessitated his last visit to Faith. "Buffy, this is Faith, she's a S -" he stopped midsentence, realising that Eric was still in the room. "Special friend. From School. In Sunnydale."

"My friend who... murders people?"

Angel looked to Cordelia for help, who laughed falsely. "Oh! That! Inside joke. Waaay inside joke."

"Oh," said Buffy. "Okay." Faith smirked, and though Buffy could recall no interaction with this girl, a feeling in her gut told her to obey the polarisation that brought out a streak of primal competitiveness so strong that she didn't recognise it. "Well... Hi," she continued, moving forward to embrace one of her many forgotten the amazement of all others looking on, Faith neither fought, nor made light of the situation. There was a peace in her that had rarely shown itself. A peace that Angel had always associated with forgiveness.

[]

Faith's mind was blown by the openly friendly and easily influenced Buffy that stood before her. Although she knew that Buffy would have no recollection of their history, she had expected that someone else would have filled her in on them and ensured that she treat Faith as the memory-having Buffy would have. This was not the case. It was all window dressing, but Faith couldn't help feeling that – by simply being close to a girl who would have readily beaten her during their last encounter – in some small way, she had been forgiven. Though whether it was by Wesley, Buffy or herself, she was unsure.

[]

Angel cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "I really need to speak to Eric alone." Cordelia slipped something Buffy didn't see into his hand and nodded, heading over to Wesley. Angel nodded and directed Eric towards his office.

"What do you know?" Buffy whispered to him.

He seemed to contemplate answering her question, but instead replied with, "We're about to find out." The three of them walked into the office, the tension filling the air. "Sit," he commanded Eric.

"There was something chasing him," Buffy explained calmly. "It's what I tied up downstairs. I was going to find out what it was."

"She," Angel corrected. Erics' head flicked up and he looked alarmed. Something Angel didn't fail to notice. "It's a she."

Buffy went to grab a book on Angels' desk. "I know she looks like a woman, but she's not, and she's not a vampire either. I figure she must be some kind of demon-y thing."

Angel looked directly at Eric. "She's a zombie."

Eric, seeming unfazed, shrugged. "That'd make sense."

Buffy caught something in Eric's glance. She tilted her head. "What are you not telling us?"

Eric sighed in frustration. "There's nothing I'm not telling you. I just need help."

"Buffy." Angel looked at Buffy sideways. There was something in his gaze that made her nod, even though she wasn't sure what she was agreeing to. "I think we should probably get rid of that thing downstairs. It's taking up your training space."

Buffy wasn't sure if he was bluffing, but Eric suddenly grew very pale. "Okay."

As she began to walk out of the room, Eric said, "Wait!"

Buffy turned, aggravation plain on her face. "I brought you back here to help you. Show your zombie stalker some tough love, and all that."

Eric shook his head. "She's not just a zombie. They said you could help me."

Whatever Eric had said, Angel had understood it. "You brought her back."

"Okay," Buffy levelled her gaze with Angels'. "Be kind, rewind: brought who back?"

Eric looked far more serious than he had before. "She's my wife."

* * *

Well, there you go. Okay, Faith is back. Lorne's playing the cryptic guy to Angel and that pesky prophecy I haven't elaborated on yet is mentioned. Buffy feels an automatic repulsion for Faith, but has no basis for it so she's being reasonably accepting. Eric: I'm not sure where he's from, but I had a dream about a guy fitting his description who brought his wife back from the dead - yes, my dreams are less than normal - so I thought I'd make a little sub-plot for him. I know that there wasn't a lot happening this chapter, but it's all building up to a bigger chapter that's coming soon. If you liked it, let me know. Reviews make my day.


	25. Like Old Times

Okay guys, once again I'm sorry for the delay! Thank you to those of you who reviewed, it means a lot. This chapter is a bit long, but it addresses a few things that I couldn't figure out how to address before.  
As always, read and enjoy!

* * *

"His wife," muttered Buffy with obvious distaste. She held her stake faithfully in her left hand, keeping pace with Angel as the two proceeded on a nightly patrol that they had agreed would be easier to conduct together, instead of at separate intervals and although Angel had felt nervous about it, Lorne's words still echoed in his mind and instilled in him a strong sense of confidence that ran parallel to the confidence he had in Buffy's ability to handle whatever the fates threw at her. "Call me old fashioned," she began, a smile flickering across her face as she realised who she was talking to, "Or... you know, don't, but I'm fairly certain there's a clause in Ye Olde Wedding Vows that explicitly signs the multitude of promises with a kiss and an expiry date of 'Til Death do us part.' I never took that as something open to interpretation."

Angel smiled drily. "Almost never."

Buffy, catching his meaning, said, "Well, we weren't married. And you're not a corpse. I mean a real, honest to God 'Frankenstein, come and get your spare parts' corpse. And you didn't bring me back."

The two kept walking, no danger showing itself. After a few moments of silence and several false alarms, Buffy turned towards her Slaying partner. "Angel, did y–" "

"Sh," he hushed, pointing thirty metres forward. "Over there."

[]

_Earlier that night_

"I brought her back," Eric stuttered, his face as white as a ghosts as he explained his ulterior motives. "We just got married, in December. She wasn't supposed to... She died. Heart attack. I don't know – she was never sick. It shouldn't have happened. They said there had been heart conditions in her family. I guess she didn't... She never told me that."

"So you did a little voodoo and resumed where your Honeymoon left off?" Buffy spat.

"No! I've never done any magic before. I didn't even know it existed. I was... There was something – I went to a therapist for help about two weeks ago. I was in the waiting room and there was a magazine on how to deal with loss. It seemed pretty normal, but there was a page," Eric lifted a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Buffy. "That page. It said..."

"Nothing." Buffy handed the piece of paper to Angel with confusion. "Can you read that?"

Angel surveyed the paper. "It looks blank to me."

Eric looked, if possible, more frightened. "No, it says right there," he placed his finger on a seemingly random spot on the page. "It gives a number. An address. It says it can bring back the dead."

"And you, having never heard of magic, believed this?" Buffy said, looking unconvinced.

"I was pretty... Drunk, at the time," said Eric, obviously meaning something else.

Angel scowled. "Finish the story."

"R-right, okay, so I went there. Drunk. And they said they'd been expecting me, which didn't make any sense because I hadn't called ahead, and they let me in. It was a good thing I was... Well, their faces. There was something wrong with them: all spiny and lumpy. They asked what I wanted, and I said I wanted Jessica. They said she wasn't gone forever if I let them help me, and then I signed something and she was there. But she wasn't herself. She was..." Eric cast his eyes towards the basement they had taken her down into, "She was that. She kept following me. I tried to talk to her – tried to reach her, but she never came back. It was like this was all there was. Sometimes I could have sworn I could... But she was never there."

"So you signed a piece of paper that a spiny, lumpy guy you'd never met before handed you in exchange for your dead wife, even though you'd never heard of magic before." Buffy glanced at Angel sceptically.

"I didn't see what the harm was. I mean, if it didn't work. I was totally out of my mind." defended Eric, distressed. "Then..." he lifted up his long sleeved shirt, showing a number of cuts, all in the same general place. "I had to do it each day, go there and make a blood sacrifice. It kept her how she was. They said if I stopped we'd both... I figured it would work until I could find you and fix her. I was going to tell you straight away, but then I got scared an–"

"Fine. You said someone suggested me. Who?" barked Angel, unconsciously pounding the desk with his fist. "Did they have something to do with this?" the Vampire threw the silver bracelet he removed from the wrist of the girl downstairs into Eric's lap.

"No," he said, pain flittering across his face. "I gave that to her. It was... sentimental – I never meant it like this. And they didn't tell me about you. They told me about her. Someone... A guy, I don't know, a preacher. He said you'd," Eric spoke to Buffy now, "died, and you were back in one piece. He said you could help me make Jessica like she was. He told me where you'd be, that you hunted things. I thought that if you put her down there," he indicated to the basement, "for a little while, that we could figure out a way to summon her back somehow–"

"In one piece," Buffy interrupted, unable to contain her fury. "_In one piece_. You think this is _one piece_?" She drew closer to Eric's face, her features distorted with anger. "I can't remember _anything_ about the last six years of my life. I can't remember who he is," she jabbed a finger towards Angel, "I can't remember my sister. I can't remember my friends, and I can't remember the last time I saw my mother before she _died_." Buffy stood back and gestured to her body. "You think that your wife wanted this? You think she wanted you to pull some Goddamned strings to make her a real girl again? She isn't. Wherever she is, it isn't in that... that _shell._ And her soul isn't where it's meant to be. It's unsettled. It's disturbed. It's _lost_. Do you _really_, _really_ think she wanted _that_?Because the last time I checked, all the dead wanted was some _peace_. To _rest in peace_. Right now, all she's got is the pieces you've left her."

Eric's eyes were opened wide as he stared into the distance. "Is she really in pain?"

Buffy shot daggers at him. "What do you think? You let me _pummel _her, for one thing."

"That was just so that you could bring her back here. She... The shell, it follows me – it was a part of the spell. It can fight, sort of, and when I tried to get rid of her to find you it tried to chase me. I was going to come back for her." He stood, trying to get out of the room. Angel quickly sidestepped to the door and blocked his exit. "We need to get to her. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... Can you put her back? Give her... peace?"

Angel moved aside, but neither man progressed through the door. "We can try. But first you've gotta tell us what these demons are called, and where you find them. Write down what was in that advertisement. Give us _everything you know_, and if you don't know," he bared his teeth which, even without his vampire visage, were sharp and menacing, "Guess."

Eric hastily grabbed the papers that a fuming Buffy shoved into his chest, along with a pen (which luckily had a lid on it when pressed against him). The wind temporarily knocked out of him, he began to write.

[]

"This is ridiculous, and I'm not just talking about that neck tie you're always wearing, either." Caleb smiled indulgently, saying nothing and maintaining his seat in front of a ouiji board and several other mystical items placed on the coffee table. "The spell is wearing down. I can feel it. This is what we get for trusting a law firm."

"Listen to us, fighting like a couple of old marrieds," chuckled Sahjhan, who had taken every chance able to offend the rules of the religion that Caleb claimed to abide by. However, the trace of humour present in his voice disappated quickly, and he became serious. "Her memory returning is troublesome, but not fatal. The other thing returning is the true cause for concern."

"Enlighten me," Caleb drawled with patronising amusement. "What is it? Her love? Her fire? Her _hope_?"

Sahjhan looked less enthused, and half heartedly he said, "Her boyfriend. I haven't seen the Powers take this much interest in a love affair since The Bold and The Beautiful started broadcasting interdimensionally."

[]

"It's going to work," Willow hissed to Tara. "I can feel it."

Tara shook her head. "Giles had better be right. This is our only shot, and I don't think you can take much more magic."

"She'll be fine," Spike said assuringly from his seat across the Summers' loungeroom. "She got me, don't she? Any craziness and I can just pop her one in the jaw. Out like a bulb pet, I promise."

Tara stared, unimpressed. "Very reassuring, Spike."

"I'm... Fine..." Willow agreed, placing her hands over her mouth as a gesture for a shushing noise that she didn't have the energy to make. An incorporeal figure rose before her; a sillhouette of Buffy. Willow revised her Latin chant one last time, trusting Tara to utter the necessary segments in English. Spike sat in awe of the shadow, trying to retain his calm. Willow sprinkled the first batch of the herb mix she had prepared onto a picture of Buffy that lay on the table. She closed her eyes, held Tara's hand and began.

"_A caelo usque ad centrum_."

"From the sky to the centre."

"_Ab extra, ab astra, ab fontes, ab mortem; ad hominem."_

"From what was, from the stars, from beyond, from death, to man."

"_Orbis non sufficit. Mala tempora currunt. Ante mortem, de profundis, ex malo bonum. In dux, lux ex tenebris. In memoriam, lux sit. Memento verere ad vox populi. Mutatis mutandis, surgam quaere tempus rerum imperator. Ad hominem, ab mortem, ante bellum, coniunctis viribus, nunc dimitis statim," _

"In memory, let there be light. For the leader of the people, memories of life. With connected strength, we ask you to send,"

"_Animus. Dum vivimus, vivamus! Dum vivimus, servimus! Esto perpetua – deo juvante, vince malum bono."_

"Her memory. Overcome evil with good."

"_Ante mortem, ante bellum, meminerunt omnia amantes." _

"Before death, before war, lovers remember all."

"_Untrique parato, untraque unum, in veritate et caritate, dona nobis parcem. Dum vivimus, vivamus! Dum vivimus, servimus! Quaere mens sana in corpore sano, memento vivere. Nunc dimittis animus. Oleum camino. vince malum bono._"

"Send the memory, pour oil on the fire. Overcome evil with good."

"_Oleum camino. vince malum bono. Oleum camino. vince malum bono. Consummatum est."_

Willow collapsed, her roots fading from black back to her natural red.

"Did it work?" asked Spike, looking around for a memory-having Buffy he expected to appear as the spell was cast.

Tara picked up the phone and dialled the L.A. number scribbled next to it. "I don't know. Giles said it might not work straight away; the magic we're trying to penetrate isn't small, it's large scale. Someone put a lot of work into this. Something has to... trigger it, I think."

As she placed the receiver to her ear, Willow sat up. Her breathing was still effected and beads of sweat were present on her face. "It has to have worked. I know put a hole in their spell, I don't know how big. I felt something go through me. Like when I restored Angel's soul," she ignored Spike's derisive snort, "I felt her mind."

Despite the hope that the words she spoke usually endeared, Willow's smile faltered as she said the words.

"What's wrong?" Tara asked, the phone still ringing.

"I... _felt_ her mind. I could read it. I mean, not everything, but..." she trailed off.

"Willow, what is it?" Tara placed the phone down in the cradle when no one answered, but Willow lifted it and dialled again.

Tara now realised that the beads of sweat she had seen on the opposite witches' face were actually tears, and as Willow dialled the number, several of them slid down her cheeks. She lifted her head and for a second she was just a child again: she had broken something important, and she looked to her friends in hopes of advice on how to repair it.

"Will, what did you see?"

Willow's voice shook. "Tara, we pulled her out of heaven."

[]

Buffy followed Angel's lead, and once she realised what they were doing began her own pursuit. The demons ahead resembled exactly the ones that Eric had described; their heads bore both spikes and lumps, and they were an unhealthy blue colour. Angel tried not to think of Doyle, and how similar the demons were. Doyle had died for good people. He had died for the right reasons. He tried to remind himself of this as they closed in on the guilty party.

"Are you the guys who play Prince Charming for vamp change?" were Buffy's first words. As Angel himself had difficulty interpreting what she had just said, he could only imagine the difficulty that the demons opposite him were having. Although he felt no sympathy for them, they did need answers, so he elaborated in reponse for the sake of their confused expressions;

"Zombies?"

The demons – of whom there were about five – nodded, obviously under the impression that they had a new client. Angel searched for a wordless hint of what Buffy was planning to do, unsure of how to proceed. Buffy walked forward.

"We need help. This girl," she held up a picture that Eric had given her from his wallet. "She's on the wrong side of Hayde's River, and we need to cast her right back."

The demons, who seconds ago had looked thrilled by the prospect of a new customer, now turned vicious. Their eyes flared dangerously and they spread out to surround the two. "We do not undo what is done," said the widest one, his shoulders almost twice as broad as Angels'. "A contract was signed – a deal entered. This cannot be reversed for unjustified reasons."

"I've got a feeling that it _can_, you're just holding back on us," said Angel, his face changing as he prepared to fight. Buffy held up her hand to stop him before he rushed into anything violent. With what Angel found an unsettling calm, she approached the Keshnav demon who had spoken.

"What do we have to do to reverse it?" she asked.

The demon, visibly glad that they had opted for the non-violent route, said, "We've never had a Slayer before."

Angel snarled and Buffy hushed him. "I know what I'm doing," she said, and he was momentarily quiet. Returning to the Keshnav, she spoke coldly. "What do you want?"

The demon looked thoughtful, his stance easing in the face of a negotiation. "You must have, what, three and a half quarts – almost three and a half litres of blood in you? You gotta have at least sixty percent of that if you wanna stay out of a coma, and since you're a Slayer you probably need a little more 'n that for all the fighting. I'm thinkin' we take about twenty percent? Which is about... seven hundred millitres?"

"Wow, demons and math. Didn't think those two ever went together," Buffy observed. Angel stayed quiet while she thought, but prayed that she would see sense. After a minute of deliberation, she said, "You make her how she was in return?"

The demon shook his head. "No can do. A contract is a contract. We can, however, sign it over into your name. It's a legally binding demon contract, pretty much foolproof, but if it's under your name you've got as long as you want to try and disprove that. All I'm asking is twenty percent."

Angel yearned to rip out the throat of the demon, whose smug smirk made his long-dead insides squirm. "Don't, Buffy," he whispered. "We can work something else out."

Buffy shot him a sad smile. "No, we can't. We can't leave that girl stuck in limbo." Turning towards the demons, she said, "Okay. Twenty percent. _If_ you tell me your name."

The other demons, impressed by the deal, whistled, partially drowning out the snarl that blasted out of Angel's chest. They had to want the one thing that he didn't have; blood.

"My name is Lech. For short, anyway," he said, pulling a blade out of his pocket.

"Wait, is there something I can give you instead?" he tried to bargain, addressing the same demon Buffy had.

The demon laughed. "Sorry Dracula, we deal specifically in the... living, elements of humanity. If I need a dust bunny or some beef jerky, I'll give you a call. Feel free to watch, though," he said, his smirk growing wider. Buffy pulled back her long hair, revealing her neck.

"Okay, how do you want to do this?"

Lech recoiled from her neck, holding his hands up. "I don't know how lover boy does it," Angel scowled, "But we prefer a less... repulsive way of doing this. It's a transaction, not a meal. We like our three meals a day just as much as the next guy, and the only A's, B's and O's I'll touch are in my alphabet soup." He pulled out a knife, handing it to her.

Angel stopped seriously this time. He grabbed a hold of Buffy's arm and pulled her away. "Buffy, it isn't your place to do this."

"Isn't it?" she asked. "Because it sounds like I used to help people. Sure, I'm not jazzed at the idea of playing Doctor with Pointy over there, no offence," she added, and the demon waved it off, "but it sounds like this is what I used to do. It's been _months_, Angel. Soon it'll be a year, then two, then ten. How else am I going to find out who I used to be if I don't try to do what I used to do? I'm not like you, I'm not staying how I am. I'm going to get older, and when I'm old with grey hair on a veranda somewhere I want to know that I did everything I could to make up for the six years I don't remember. I'm going to have lived enough for a whole lifetime, and then some."

"Three, actually," he murmured. "But that doesn't mean you have to do this."

Buffy put her hand on the side of Angels' face, pleading with him for understanding. "It doesn't, you're right. I don't have to give my blood."

"What?" he asked sharply, but without elaboration she turned around and took the knife. He could have sworn she whispered 'but that never stopped me'.

Buffy placed the knife on her palm. After the beatings she had both recieved and given in the past, she no longer feared pain when it was for a good cause. Before she incised, however, she asked, "How do you measure this?"

"You were too hasty," said the demon, and with a click of his finger Buffy's arm elevated slightly.

With a surprised expression, she said, "I'm not doing that."

"No, you're not," the demon agreed, "But you do have to make the cut."

Buffy paused for a second. "If this is an iron clad contract, why am I able to exchange my blood for it? And while we're on that vein of thought–" she smiled at her pun, "Where does this go? I don't go giving it up all willy-nilly."

"All reasonable questions!" Lech gushed. "Your blood can be exchanged for the contract because, Slayer, we aren't actually altering the thing itself – the content is the same, the beneficiary changes. And since our beneficiarys' have, in the past, been prone to... Accidents," a few demons exchanged grimaces, "We find it best to keep that part flexible. The rest is still set in stone. The reason for _this_ is – incidentally answering your last question – that we supply for one client only. A local bar."

"A _bar_?" Buffy asked, lowering the dagger. "Why does that require zombification in exchange for blood?"

"Because we only deal an extremely rare blood type; AB negative. Only three percent of people in this dimension have it, and it's valuable stuff. Liquid diamond. The magazine the gentleman you're attempting to free was reading had one of our advertisements in it. Enchanted advertisement. We don't just deal in zombification, if his blood is the right type then the magazine will essentially show anything that the viewer wants. He wants, we supply. He supplies, we supply. Viscious circle kind of deal."

"Like the Mirror of Erised?" Buffy asked.

The demon laughed. "Yes, something like that. You can't imagine how long it took us. Anyway, I digress; I'm sorry to hurry you, but we're a bit pressed for time. If you just cut," he pressed along her life line, "Right here. Once enough has been taken, it should stop. Usually it won't heal a whole lot much faster than normal, but with your healing I suppose that's not a problem." He pulled out the contract from behind him, though where he was storing it wasn't Buffy wasn't sure.

"No, it isn't, but I've got one: where does it fall?" Lech passed her a thin, glass beaker. It was measured to a litre, and the line where six hundred and sixty was situated seemed to eminate an etheral glow.

"Enchanted beaker," Buffy mused. "Nice touch. Give Angel the contract."

"Ah, not until you've–" Lech began, but quickly handed the contract over when Buffy made the cut.

Buffy stood for a moment, her head turned away from the blood, which, though not unpleasant enough to make her queasy, was something she was perfectly happy not to look at. She met Angel's eyes instead. "Are you okay with this?" she indicated her hand, which was still hovering over the beaker of its' own free will.

"_I'm_ fine. I'm not the one losing twenty percent of their blood." He held her free hand with his. When he noticed how quickly the blood was spilling, he addressed Lech, who he was beginning to suspect was the only fluently English-speaking one of the group. "I'm not going to say I'm an expert," he began, then backtracked. "Okay, I am. Blood doesn't flow out that fast. She's already lost one sixth of what she's giving you. That should take much longer. This whole thing should take hours."

The demon smiled. "Enchanted beaker, enchanted contract, enchanted blade."

"This is a little grimmer than I like my fairytales nowadays," he growled.

Lech bared fangs that had gone unseen until now, in an attempt to smile sincerely. "Well, luckily, it will all be over soon."

The two watched in anticipation as the blood filled up, anxious to see the flow stem as capacity reached a seventh of the breaker. As promised, the flow stopped, and Buffy was given power over her arm, somewhat dizzy.

She had lost enough to feel disoriented, but not enough to stop from her next premeditated move. She ran towards the demon and brought her foot to his face, sending him reeling backwards.

"We had a deal, now it would be wise of you to leave," he said, covering his nose (which she had crushed) with one hand and signalling for his men to remain where they were with the other. "Five against one and a half, in your state? This will end badly for you, girl. The only reason you're still standing is because Slayers' blood is so valuable to us, and I have no desire to lose a drop of it."

"He's right, we need to leave," said Angel, grabbing Buffy's elbow. Although suffering from minimal Slayer strength, she still pulled her arm away from him.

"They brought that girl back! You think they won't do it again? Take advantage of people like Eric?"

"They might, and we'll do what we can. When we're ready. You're no good to anyone dead."

Buffy seemed to ease when his hand slipped into hers. He ripped off a part of his shirt and wrapped it around her arm to stem any further bleeding. She wriggled slightly. "There was so much magic. It'll be healed soon enough, anyway."

"I know," he said, smiling. "But we'd better not risk it."

And with that, he scooped her into his arms and began to walk back. The last of his resistance against the beautiful blonde in his arms broke down, and he held her close to him. They would have to talk, but this time it wasn't going to be in a sewer, and it wasn't going to end with both of their hearts torn asunder.

"What are you doing?" she asked, grinning, but not moving.

"You've lost a lot of blood. Don't want to push it."

"If you say so," she mumbled, tucking her head into his chest.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, burning with curiosity. "Give your blood?" he had a feeling, but he needed to hear her say it.

After a pregnant pause, she began. "After all of this. This... chaos – not," she looked at him for a moment, "that it's been all bad, but after it all, I finally appreciate the value of a little peace. The thought of someone being... _in _themself, without being able to function – just stuck, that seems like the worst kind of torture. She's kind of like the opposite of me."

"How so?"

Buffy squirmed, trying to get more comfortable. Although she highly doubted that was possible. "Well, I can walk, talk, battle, sacrifice all the blood I want, but I can't remember. All she's got is her memories. At least when I lay myself down to sleep, I can get some peace."

"Mm," replied Angel, easing his pace slightly. The conversation slowed to a stop, and Buffy once again tucked her head into his chest. This was the peace she meant. The peace she cherished – the peace of hope.

"I miss remembering this," she murmured.

"You wouldn't if you remembered how long you went without it."

Buffy lifted her head from her perch, searching his eyes for some definite answer. "Went?"

Angel smiled down at her, memories both sweet and bitter flashing in his mind. She was the key in all of them. "Rest."

For once, she obliged him.

[]

"Eric?" Angel called, entering the hotel under cover of darkness. He was guilty of cutting through a few longer streets so that Buffy was in his arms just that little bit longer, and he felt more rested than he had in a long time. He placed Buffy on her feet and she jerked back to attention. Still slightly disoriented from blood loss, Angel placed his hand around her waist to steady her.

Eric walked out of the office, rubbing his eyes and looking like he had just woken up, much like Buffy. "Did you get anything?"

"Come on," Angel knew that Buffy was able to walk by herself, but he kept his hand firmly on her waist, just in case, and possibly for his own benefit.

He lead the two of them downstairs, and Buffy pulled the contract from Angels' hand.

"What did you get?" Eric asked, studying the contract.

"Do you remember this?" Buffy asked, trying to be gentle. She handed him the contract, and after a few seconds his eyes grew wide as he recognised it.

"I signed it. I remember signing it."

"Eric..." Buffy said, "It says that you have to keep making blood sacrifices every day, or you both die."

"What if I just..." Eric held it limply in his hand, "Rip it up?"

Buffy surveyed him sadly. "Same effect."

Hopelessness dances across Eric's face. "So... She's stuck? We're stuck?"

"We can try to fix it, but it seems like a pretty concrete contract."

Eric looked at the shell of his wife, tears welling in his eyes. "And you can't bring her back?"

Buffy looked to Angel for confirmation. He shook his head. "No. This was as close as you could get. But we can... We can figure something out," Buffy assured him, reaching for the contract.

Eric pulled it away from her and took a seat next to the unconscious form of his wife. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry Jess." He looked into the eyes of the woman beside him, then up at Buffy. "She's in pain, I just know it," he said, begging. "How do I make it stop?"

Buffy grew concerned, trying to take the contract away from him. "Come on Eric, we can get to work now and figure out how–"

Before Buffy could finish, Eric turned his gaze towards her, his brown hair falling messily across his face and almost brushing the tip of his sad smile. A tear track streaked down his face and he said, "Thanks for trying, but I've done too much. I hope... you find your peace."

"Eric, don't!" she exclaimed, jumping forward, but too late – in the middle of his sentence he ripped the contract in half. An earth shattering boom sounded and the two bodies collapsed.

Deafening silence echoed in the room for several seconds afterwards.

"It's done," said Buffy, her voice as dead as the two corpses before her. "He's done. She can finally rest."

"Yeah," Angel agreed hoarsely, accepting Buffy as she fell into his arms. "She can."

[]

"Well, that..." Giles began, unsure of what to say. "Sounds like quite the endeavour. Quite the story, for such a short length of time. You barely missed meal time."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "It was heavy. I guess I'm glad they're both okay now. I hate to go all Shakesperian, but pretty much nothing can touch them further." She thought for a second. "I remember _that_, and not my best friends? Yeesh."

Giles smiled, amused. "Well, as long as that's, er, sorted."

Angel nodded knowingly. He planned to return the body of Jessica McCormac to its' original place of rest, and bury Eric with her.

A moment later, Wesley descended the stairs, Faith in tow. When Faith spotted Buffy, she grinned. "Ready to cut loose, B? Like old times?"

Buffy looked up at the girl, then to Angel. "Think I can take her?" She grinned.

Angel leaned in and kissed her lightly, much to the surprise of all others in the room. "Like old times."

As Faith leapt off the bottom step, her shirt was momentarily lifted.

Buffy's eyes landed on the scar, and a large bulk of time was suddenly illuminated.

"_Well look at you. All dressed up in big sisters' clothes._"

Like old times.

* * *

Okay, as said above, I know that this was a long chapter, but I had a lot of fun writing it, and to be perfectly honest I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Originally, I planned to have Erics' story end differently, but this made the most sense to me. I know that his original indifference seems to contrast badly with his ending, but I chalk that down to the fact that he didn't realise he'd really gotten his wife back, sort of. She was in pain, and he didn't realise it. I know it's pretty obvious, but this whole thing addresses Buffy's need for peace in her life. Which, funnily enough, coincides with Angel's _finally _letting himself be close to Buffy. There's still a lot of trouble ahead, but with Lorne's prediction and the constant presence of His Buffy, he's just about ready to hold up a white flag and surrender. As you can tell, this chapter was all about building the plot for the next chapter, which is going to be pivotal.  
The last scene; yes, Willow's spell has worked. To what extent, you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out.  
If you liked it, please review. It makes this worth writing.  
Thanks for reading!


	26. A Not So Blank State

Hey guys! I know I've lost a lot of readers because the last few chapters have been kind of... dwindling, and I haven't posted in a while, but I've got my original laptop back and I am ready to finish this story. Yeah! *Hyped.* Okay, so, you know the drill, you read, if you like you leave me a review so that I don't think I've lost all of my followers and lose the will to write. If you like it, let me know with a lovely, pretty, shining review telling me what you like and what you don't.  
As always, read and enjoy! _

* * *

_

_Like old times. _The phrase swirled and spun in her head, far too quickly for her to reach. Her conscious mind tried futilely to grasp onto something that would shape the words, give them meaning. Right now she had one single memory that made no sense, and an apprehension to be close to the woman trying to spar with her.

"Come on Buff, don't tell me you gone soft, have you?"

A glint of something both friendly and dangerous sparked in Faith's eyes. Buffy steeled herself and raised her fists. She didn't know that what she remembered was definitely true. If something could take her memory away, it could return it to her with equal effectiveness and deception. For now, she would simply have to assume that there was something she was missing about the story and rely on the people surrounding her to stop things getting out of hand.

"Not quite yet."

She moved forward and Faith reflexively moved back, the two pushing and pulling to keep an equal distance from each other until Buffy moved forward and struck the first blow. Unsure of how serious the fight was meant to be, she propelled her right fist directly forward, trained on Faith's cheek. As she had expected, Faith jerked to the left and avoided the impact. Faith grasped Buffy's arm and tried to tug her into the air and back down to the blue mattress, but Buffy found her centre in mid-air and brought her free arm down onto Faith's face, grounding herself as naturally as though she had willingly jumped.

"Good to see you didn't forget how to lose gracefully." Faith grinned, her mouth slightly reddened by her opponent's blow.

"Good thing I didn't forget how to kick your ass." Buffy smiled back, and the fighting resumed.

Again she made the first move, swinging her right hook and connecting with Faith's cheek. Faith responded quickly, her fist swinging in a circle around her body to reciprocate the attack, the punch landing solidly on Buffy's cheek.

The two stopped and the familiarity was like a third person in the fight, echoing each of their manoeuvres, the ghost of a different time. The fight was too early for Faith to realise what Buffy did, but her movements matched the ones in the older Slayer's memory all the same, a subconscious repetition of something that the mind had not yet acknowledged.

"_You said that I was like you_._ That I was holding it in_."  
"_Ready to cut loose?_"  
"_Try me._"

Buffy jilted forward and aimed three consecutive, lightning-fast punches: a lower body, higher body and punch to the other Slayers' face. Faith avoided all of these and the two circled each other. Faith retaliated this time with a blow in a similar place where Buffy had gotten her face a second earlier.

The audience watched as the fight blurred and elevated to frightening speeds. It became a dance; back, forward, back, forward, punch, block, jump, punch, swipe, kick, sweep, jump, grab, punch. The order changed but the two seemed to be dancing, still–exchanging blows as though each was somehow one step ahead of the other at all times. It looked almost as if the fight had been choreographed.

Buffy raised her left leg and kicked Faith in the head with all the force she could muster. Faith reeled backwards onto a wooden seat that was at the side of the workout area, temporarily indisposed. Several seconds later the younger of the two kicked the seat forward, knocking Buffy off of her feet for a moment. Seizing this opportunity, she sprung onto the seat and then, alighting from it, she jumped onto Buffy, who swung her around and slammed her into the ground.

Faith grabbed Buffy from behind, her arm around her neck.

"_Not gettin' tired are ya? I'm just startin' to feel it_."

Buffy threw her assailant off of her and watched her collide with the wall with a gratifyingly painful sound. Undeterred, the fight continued as the two continued to give and receive as viciously as their counterpart. Although she was aware of the light, free feeling on her wrist, Buffy felt the imprint of heavy metal that was not present. Although she knew the feeling was just an explosively fresh memory, the feeling made it difficult to escape.

Not that she wanted to. This was the closest thing that Buffy had felt to purpose in a long time. There was a spark inside of her, the spark of a flame that has long since been doused but still burns on, flickering; the fire of battle, of purpose, fighting for justice, even if it was a battle she had won long ago. It was as though, all over again, she was fighting for Angel.

"_What? All that killing and you're afraid to die?_"

Much as the Slayers had felt the pressing of handcuffs that were absent, through Buffy's palm surged the feeling of a cool blade in her finger's grasp.

"_That's mine_."

"You're about to get it back," she snarled aloud.

Faith's eyes widened and she grabbed Buffy, throwing her halfway across the room. She followed her movement by pulling Buffy up to stand, shaking her head.

"Buff, this isn't–we're not–"

Buffy landed a blow to Faith's abdomen with a clenched fist shaped around a knife that wasn't there, and Faith cried out in shock. Their eyes met, and the two were both in the same moment three years before.

"_You did it. You -_"

"Killed you," she murmured. Faith stepped back, her eyes flitting down to the long, slender scar that had been revealed when her shirt had hitched up during the spar. She looked at Buffy in the same naked, wide-eyed shock that she had the first time.

The group, who had been nothing more than confused about the intensity of the fighting a second ago, looked upon the two and each other with alarmed expressions. Buffy slackened her grip and allowed her muscles to relax. Her hand accepted that there was no dagger for it to grasp onto and the spell was broken.

"You remember."  
Buffy flexed her hand, examining it with what she hoped looked like sane, detached interest. "The body doesn't forget."

Faith pulled her shirt down over her scar. "I know."

Cordy was the first to speak. "Okay, what the hell just happened? Do we need an exorcism to go? Because I'm getting some serious Emily Rose vibes here."

[]

Angel stepped forward and placed himself between the two immobile Slayers, raising his arms but making contact with neither. He was unsure of how much Buffy remembered, and that meant that there was no way of knowing how volatile the situation could become.

"It's okay," Buffy said, and the undisguised panic coupled with pseudo-calmness in her voice told Angel that it was. He relaxed his arms but maintained his shield-like stance, ready step in and break up any fighting before it had a chance to begin.

Giles walked forward and met Buffy. She looked into his face, for the first time with real recognition. A smile curved at the edge of her lips. Her eyes sparkled and tears brimmed. "Giles?"

Giles looked as though he too was about to cry. This union was much more meaningful than the first; his ward remembered him, making it a reunion, not an introduction. "I say..." he began, ceasing any attempt at vocalisation and hugging the girl who may as well have been his own blood tightly.

Buffy returned the embrace, squeezing him with so much force that he wheezed and she apologetically loosened her grip. The people who were not on particularly familiar terms with the two shuffled and scuffed their shoes, looking to the side as though they were interrupting a private moment. The pair broke apart, and Buffy raised her head. She surveyed him for a moment, letting out a startling laugh.

"I can't believe you came to L.A. for me. Just how much sun screen have you used so far?"

Rupert Giles let out a pleasant laugh that held much lightness and youth in it. It rang similarly to the way he used to laugh with Jenny, and with Buffy and her friends, before Glory. "I daresay that it was lucky that you convinced the Watcher's Council to pay me."

Buffy tapped her temple with her index finger. "Whole lotta nothin'. The Watcher's Council are currently watchless." She looked confused for a moment, "I mean, I'm sure they own watches, but –"

Giles nodded with good humour. "How much do you remember?" he asked. In a sudden burst of goodness, he shifted to the side and allowed Angel to stand closer to Buffy, without any begrudging glances.

"I remember my birthday. It starts around there." She lowered her head for a moment and placed both of her palms on her temples, as though in the throes of a migraine. "But I think my system is still rebooting in a major way." Buffy looked thoughtful. "Pity it isn't a real computer, Will could have me fixed in a second." She looked pleased with herself. "Look at me, all remember-y!"

Angel suddenly looked panicked. Knowing his reason, Cordy put a hand on his shoulder and he turned smiled half-heartedly at her. With a sympathetic look, she shook her head to tell him that it was unnecessary. They had both been there for her seventeenth birthday in one way or another, after all. With Buffy's head still lowered, it was impossible for Angel to discern from her expressions just how much about their relationship she remembered.

When Buffy mentioned her birthday, Giles shot a concerned glance from Buffy to Angel, watching any sign of pain that indicated recollection of Angelus. Her eyes, although haunted by the months of confusion and absence of memory, had lacked the despair that her ex-Watcher had caught sight of on several occasions after Angel's departure when he had been mentioned and no one had been looking at his Slayer.

In ten seconds that felt like an eternity, Buffy had composed herself and replied coolly, "Eighteenth."

[]

Angel felt guilty about the level of relief that washed over him when Buffy had told them inadvertently that she did not remember the events of her seventeenth birthday.

"But," Giles had told him sternly when the two had been left alone to converse while Buffy called Willow to tell her the good news—to call her on a number that she proudly boasted she could recall now. "Her memory has so many ties. Everything is connected, obviously. I don't feel as though I'm being overly optimistic when I say that eventually, once she examines everything she remembers, the hidden alcoves of her memory will, in time, recover themselves. This is temporary reprieve. She will never forget forever and, frankly, I don't believe that you deserve it. I know that what happened," Giles still used the same cautiously sharp tone that he had after Angel's turn, "was not necessarily your fault, but you and Angelus are one, and right now Buffy can't remember that. She may have come to accept it when you returned—" the words 'from hell' floated unsaid and unacknowledged between the two, known by both though neither uttered them, "—but she was always aware of it. Without those memories as weapons," Angel unconsciously cringed at the turn of phrase, "She is vulnerable. A Slayer cannot afford to be vulnerable... _Buffy_ cannot afford to be vulnerable."

Giles fixed his gaze intently upon the vampire. In the depths of it Angel could read respect and camaraderie, but in the foreground were much more prominent emotions: caution, coldness and hesitance. A warning also flashed across his eyes and Angel could see a raw savagery. This was the Ripper floating to the surface. He would do what he needed to, whatever it was, if it would keep his Slayer safe.

Angel tried to show understanding in his eyes; understanding and acceptance, but after so many years and so many facades, every sincere emotion he tried to portray felt as insincere as though his intentions were still to torture, maim and kill. He could tell that this conflict showed on his face and he abandoned any attempt at communicating peace with his eyes.

"I understand."

"Buffy knows what you did. She knows what happened. She knows, but she doesn't_ feel _it. You and I are both aware that feeling was always Buffy's greatest asset, and, although all of her training contradicts it, without her emotions she is ill-equipped to be truly aware of the danger that a relationship with you presents."

Angel lowered his eyes and furrowed his brow. Without even realising it, he had begun to do what he had done so many years before when he had been in a broken down car and she had sat on the steps as she was called to her destiny; he had hoped. He had planned. He felt the plans he wasn't aware were even in his subconscious slip away as though liquid, through fingers too large and clumsy to hold onto anything except death and a cold, solitary eternity.

He inhaled unnecessarily. He lifted his head. He met Giles' eyes. The man who he would have, in a different, a more recent life, applied to for Buffy's hand, delivered a death sentence of sorts again. He had come to L.A. and made himself a life without Buffy; he had almost fallen in love again. He _would_ have fallen in love again, had Buffy not found him. But she did, and he was back to the start. It had been foolish of him not to expect her return. Maybe he should have moved to another continent.

_"I had a dream, when you were... Gone." She stumbled over the last word, managing to pack guilt, anguish and sadness into the one syllable._

_"Oh?" _

_"We were on a beach. It was light, but you were there. It wasn't too far from where I was staying, which is why I didn't know how..." Buffy paused, and Angel could see that she was rethinking her outburst and that she wasn't sure if she should finish her story._

_"Go on."_

_The two words were encouragement enough. "You found me. In all of my dreams, when they weren't... In all of the dreams about things that hadn't happened, you always found me. I never knew how you did, but... Well, because it was a dream is probably the logic-y answer, but you've always been able to find me anyway."_

_When she paused again, Angel did not push._

_"I'm only telling you this because you said that when you were... That you could dream things I said – things I would have said."_

_He nodded. He didn't let himself think about what she meant. He was good at it._

_"I asked, 'how did you find me here?' And you said that–" she looked at him. "You said, 'if-"_

_"—I was blind, I would see you."_

_She looked genuinely taken aback. "Yeah. How did you know?"_

_"Once after patrol when you were sleeping and I was there with you, you asked me. I told you something like that. I guess something in you remembered." _

_Buffy smiled, stretching languidly. "I'm glad I remembered. I'm glad you found me." _

_Angel never said what he was thinking at that moment; that she was the one who found him in the dark. He had lied to her. He had never told her that when she was sleeping. He wasn't sure why he had lied, when he could have so easily taken his usual route and said nothing at all, but something in him felt the need to rationalise something in her life, anything he could. He didn't say that he had been thinking that she had found him, too. _

"I understand," he repeated, putting no effort into presenting a semblance of sincerity when the real thing fell perfectly across his face.

Buffy poked her head through the door. "Ah, Angel, I'm glad I found you. Here." She held out his mobile and he caught a quick glance at the digits telling the length of the phone call printed on the screen. It was going to cost him a fortune if she wanted to call Willow again. She watched his eyes fall on the screen sheepishly. He looked up at her and smiled with warmth she had scarcely seen a dozen times before. She was temporarily taken aback by the two pools of chocolate brown that felt so real she could swim in them.

"What?" she asked self-consciously, patting her face and head in search of something worth smiling at.

As usual, he said nothing. As usual, he kept his thoughts inside. Thought, to be correct. One thought that repeated in his head, again and again and again. She found him. She always did.

[]

It was a very unsettling experience for Buffy when her memories returned. After Faith had explained what they had been through and why she had taken early leave on her multiple life sentences, Buffy had spent over an hour asking different questions of different people, certifying that the truths that the group presented to her were entirely unedited. Once satisfied, she had tried to set up definitive parameters of where her memory began and ended, so that she could dispel the unwelcome blur of half-formed recollections and implacable faces. She remembered her birthday, she remembered Angel leaving and she remembered everything in between, but as for everything else, she was able recall certain facts with unassuming ease, but she could never explain how she knew them. There was no visual tag running parallel with her new wealth of knowledge.

She remembered telling Giles that she would kill him if he touched her. She remembered her mother, and observed with surprise the lack of ageing the three year gap in her memory should have shown. Then again, her mother had always had a liveliness that divorce, Buffy's expulsion and discovery of a supernatural world had apparently failed to destroy. Without even knowing the specifics of these events, she felt a rush of admiration and a pang of longing. She wished that she could hold her mothers' hand and tell her how much she loved her.

She wished too, that she could remember when she had told her mother that she was the Slayer. She hoped that Joyce would have been relieved to have an explanation for her daughters' acting out that didn't end in "criminally insane" or "anger issues", as the school reports Lilah had shown her had so often said.

Still, for every memory that she wished she had, there now a subsequent memory that helped to at least partially illuminate the following events and effects of everything she had gone through. She remembered her mother loving her as Buffy Summers and as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and that was the most comforting memory she had.

[]

No one was entirely sure how to treat an only partially Buffy-like Buffy. Giles was unable to treat her with the frank sternness he had when he had first met her, but the father-like role he had taken on over time didn't seem to fit the situation either. Everyone was in the same boat as Giles, unable to discern whether the Slayers' seemingly placid reactions to every familiar thing they said to her was fuelling irritation, impatience or happiness. No one thought to ask her how she felt, so for the next few days the entire ensemble of Angel Investigations continued to walk on eggshells.

[]

Angel abhorred the idea that the only part of his relationship with Buffy that she remembered was from his post-Hell period. Although he was thankful that she was unable to remember Angelus, a trade off for the memories of those months and their first year and a half together almost seemed worth it. Almost.

He had been subconsciously avoiding a one-on-one talk with her. He realised this when the two arose at the same hour and found that they were the only two awake before sunrise.

Buffy asked him harmlessly whether he would like some coffee. His throat tightened and he had a strong desire to no longer be in the same room as her.

"No, I'm fine."

His voice was stiff and unkind in his own ears, and she visibly froze in surprise. The movement was small but significant. His reaction confused both of them, so she nodded curtly and served herself a small breakfast of oddly shaped pancakes.

Chiding himself for acting so stupidly, Angel seated himself by Buffy and–after she spotted him hesitating by the fridge and, with laughter in her eyes, assured him that it was fine–drank from his own mug.

"It's weird. It is for you too," she said, holding a pancake-laden fork to her mouth.

Angel looked up. He no longer needed to get out, no longer needed her gone. He saw his fear mirrored in her small, rigid frame, and truthfully, it terrified him, but in both Buffy and Angel there was a need to make the other okay. There was a reason that he had let down his walls the day before, and it wasn't temporary weakness.

"It's weird," he agreed.

Buffy looked up, chewing slowly. She looked into his face and a small smile lit up her face. "You're different from then. I am too. I understand you better now."

This surprised Angel. "How?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. We're both older, I guess." She smiled dryly. "I might not remember too much about being older than fifteen, but God," Buffy moved the plate to the side and placed her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "I feel _old_."

Angel returned her dry smile with one of his own. "No one usually pulls that line around me."

She grinned and swallowed the remnants of her first pancake. "No, they probably don't. But while you go on looking like a poster boy for youth and vitality for the next dozen generations, I'm going to wither and wrinkle and prune like I just had the longest bath in history."

His brow creased. "True."

Buffy smile more gently this time. "I'm going to save feeling sorry for myself until the sun comes up, and I figure we've still got at least half an hour before dawn, so let's not play Ring Around The Slayer like everyone else is. I remember how this ended last time; I thought I knew, when I didn't have memories, but Giles was right, I can't really know until I know, y'know?"

"I know," Angel responded automatically. He chuckled. "I mean, I understand what you're saying."

"I remember _all_ of it," she repeated, then pulled her long, blonde hair to the side. Angel could see, to the left side of her neck, the crescent-shaped scar that was shockingly noticeable for a scar years old.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"Why not?" The beginnings of frustration bloomed in his chest. If she didn't want an apology, why did she show him the scar? Surely this wasn't her way of reminiscing.

"You're sorry for this," she traced the scar with her index finger, "And I understand why. But I don't want you to be. This memory... I've never felt... closer... to another person—besides Dawn. Sure, the sucking pretty much sucked, but if I had to do it ag—"

"Don't you dare say you'd do it again!" Angel sprung to his feet and slammed his fist on the table with a resounding thud that could have awoken everyone in the hotel. "Drinking is something I have to do. It's how I live, but it's not what I am. I never wanted you to be a part of it." He swung his hand at the mug carelessly. "It's animalistic, Buffy, it's how I _feed_."

"I know that," she responded patiently. "But that doesn't mean I can't feel—"

"Yes it does," he said, his voice muted and threatening. "I let you die."

Her face changed at his choice of words.

"I mean, I nearly..." he stumbled.

Understanding lit Buffy's face. "I don't remember it, but Angel," she stood up and put her hands on his face, "it wasn't your fault."

"You just said that you remembe—"

"Angel."

Her meaning was clear enough without explanation. He lowered his eyes.

"I wasn't there."

"You weren't there for a lot of things. It wasn't your place anymore," she curbed her tongue before she said 'as much as I probably wanted it to be.' "That still leaves the question of what happens next."

"Yes," he agreed, "It does."

"But first," the warmth drained from her eyes and a familiar hardness returned. "Wake everyone up. Tell them to get their weapons and get ready."

"When?"

"Tonight. We're going to get Sahjhan." Buffy's jaw tightened. "Tonight, we're going to finish this."

* * *

Okay, there we go. Chapter twenty six. I'm so relieved to have this chapter posted, and I really, really hope that you all enjoyed it. I promise you guys some action in the next chapter, and if you want to leave me a review I will love you forever and ever and ever. Oh, and I know that some of you might be confused by Buffy's easy acceptance of Faith and the fact that she's stabbed someone, but that will all be dealt with later, because this chapter was pretty much about the fight, Buffy remembering her mother after she told her she was the Slayer and Giles laying down the law with Angel. It will aaaall be explained in time. *Malevolent grin.*


	27. Lost and Found

"Buffy, I wish you'd be serious," Giles scolded. Buffy was having a great deal of fun in her training room. With a few more techniques now remembered, she had so far been unable to concentrate on the matter at hand. "Sahjhan is no joke, you're aware of this, but still you refuse to focus. Remembering what you've learnt one year out of seven is not going to be enough to save you if you don't know how to_ use_ what you know."

"Well, you know what they say," Buffy said breathlessly, jumping down from a beam she had been balancing precariously on. "You can lead a Slayer to slaughter, but you can't make her drink."

Giles tried not to smile. "Very clever."

She grinned, the smile an odd mixture of Buffy the vampire Slayer and Buffy Summers, innocent teenager. Suddenly she looked sombre and the playfulness in her movements vanished. "Can I win this, Giles?"

Giles was taken aback by her frankness. "I can't say with any certainty, but... Based on your track record, I imagine we have a sizeable chance, yes."

Buffy crossed her arms and looked sceptical. "My track record has one count of vampire boyfriend turned homicidal and two impermanent but severe counts of death. I don't love those chances. I remember feeling powerful and... Ready, but I died. It's kind of hard to be Miss Optimism when I know I lost and I don't even remember what I did wrong. Could I have been faster? Quicker? Better? Because all I've got right now is 'I was dead', and, for some reason, this reminiscent feeling of an upped thermostat."

Giles smiled and looked to his left, cleaning his glasses. "You did nothing wrong, Buffy. What you did–what you gave–was a gift. You gave your life for Dawns. That shows loyalty and love. Bravery. Time and again you've proved your–your resilience, your strength, your commitment," Buffy raised an eyebrow and Giles corrected himself, "For the most part. You have been... Spirited, and yes, blows have been taken–on both sides, but you are still the Slayer, and you are still, to the amazement of beings on many realms, it seems, alive and kicking."

"Oh! Kicking! I remember!" she burst, aiming an exceedingly precise high kick that he remembered teaching her early in her final school year. After she had acted out her new found move, she paused and looked at her Watcher. Wordlessly, Buffy moved closer and Giles placed his arms around her once more. She cherished the warm feeling of a true familial bond that this inspired within her. A nostalgic, warm, comforting, unforced emotion. Stronger than a memory was this warmth flooding her chest.

Buffy pulled away and grabbed a staff, moving into fighting stance. "Okay, I'll be serious now."

Giles mimicked her action and lifted his staff. "Tell me your plans." They touched wood and began to spar. "_En garde_."

"We need to find where these guys are hiding out. Wes is doing a locator spell as we speak. If they're hiding out in a signal-blocking Batcave I can go around to the local bars and do my own locator spell, but I think being in tip top trouble-free shape is probably the best idea, so fingers crossed our boy took advantage of the bonus meal deal featured at the Hiltons' quality lodgings because they've got great reception. And he seems like Paris's type."

"I don't think so."

Buffy turned around, and there was Angel. Her temporary lapse in concentration cost the Slayer her balance; Giles swept his staff under her feet and knocked them out from under her. As she began to fall sideways, she overbalanced her torso and placed one of her hands on the ground before she fell, rising to a one-handed handstand and quickly flipping back to an upright stance, just in time to jump over another well-directed sweeping from Giles' weapon.

"Pause," she said to Giles. "Why? Not pretty enough?"

"I was going to say he seems too moral, but that works too I guess," Angel shrugged.

"The locator spell? The... Other spell? With the... resinking urn?"

"Resikhian. We've locked onto his location, but he's busy tonight, hasn't stayed in one place the entire time, which is difficult to track when he teleports so much. And yes, taken care of. I know how to do it."

"Okay. That's good, we can catch him off guard." Buffy turned to Giles. "That's good, right?"

"Yes, I imagine that we will be able to catch him off guard if he's running errands," he answered.

Wesley entered the training room. "There's another one with him. A companion, an ally, take your pick. We know it's a human."

"Beauty and the beast, huh? Sweet," Buffy murmured.

"Yes. Well, they're both staying within half a mile of each other at all times," Wesley lifted a map of L.A. with scorch marks in select places and charring on others. There was one and one red dot on the damaged map, both moving over it at a slow but steady pace and within close proximity of one another. Wesley placed his index and middle finger over them. "We'll have to track them and see if we can disable the communication devices that they have and take them down individually."

Buffy sighed. "I wish Willow was here, she could do that in a heartbeat. Okay, we'll manage. Have you got the reseeking urn?"

"Resikhian," Angel, Giles and Wesley all corrected at once. Meeting eyes and looking awkward, Wesley continued.

"Yes, we have the urn. It's upstairs. We'll have to get close enough to Sahjhan to capture it."

"I'll take Sahjhan. Buffy, you take the human," said Angel.

Buffy looked unhappy but unwilling to argue. "Fine, fine, your city, your rules. Is Faith back from recon yet?" she asked, pacing the lobby and examining the weapons.

"I'm here, B," Faith returned, her hands bright red, as though chafed. She had scrubbed the blood off and she had continued to scrub even after it was gone. They didn't make water hot enough to make her feel cleansed, these days. "Didn't have anything good. I got a Nazi scroll or something. Sounded dodgy, thought I'd confiscate it and hand it to the principal for extra cred." She tossed it to Wesley carelessly, and he grasped opened it carefully, not believing his eyes.

"Faith..." he began slowly, looking disbelieving, "did you mean 'Nyazian scroll'?"

"Yeah, that'd be about right. Worth the good old fashioned cash-money I spent on it?" she grinned, wiping her knuckles.

"Very much so. I've read excerpts before, I have pieces, but to now own the whole scroll..." Wesley looked at Faith dryly. "Would you like me to reimburse you the uh, cash-money?"

Faith grinned. "Happy to help the cause."

"Nyazian scroll, that's full of prophecies, isn't it Wes?" Angel asked.

"Yes, they tell the coming of a, uh, a merging of events, I think, from memory. I'll have to look over them again."

Buffy laughed as she saw the look of longing in Giles eyes as he watched Wesley handle the scroll. "I think you kids might have to share."

"Oh, of course," Wesley offered the scroll to Giles. "Shall we begin to translate it?"

Giles looked at Buffy, Faith and Angel. "Do you think you could spare an hour?" he asked.

"Gunn, Cordelia and Fred are still out patrolling," said Wesley. "Call us when they return and we'll discuss what we've translated in that time."

"Seems fair. Play nice you two!" Buffy called up the stairs, laughing once more as the two hurried up the stairs. "Couldn't you have found this at some time of year that I could have wrapped it and used it as a present?" Buffy asked Faith with mock exasperation. "I'd be off the hook for the rest of my life."

Faith smirked challengingly. "You think you're takin' the cred for that, even with a pretty little bow on it, you're dreaming. You buy the chocolates and make the fruitcake, I'll beat low-life demons for the ancient prophetic scrolls. It's a fair split."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Watcher's Pet."

"Gee, you really don't remember much, huh?"

"Sure I do, I remember enough to know that I wasn't a W–Angel! Stop laughing!"

[]

"What have you got?" Wesley asked, leaning over the desk.

"A great deal less clarity than I would have liked," replied Giles, rubbing his forehead. "A, erm, a confluence, something called the Tro-Clon. Dates–three dates, specifically, possibly more, but they're the only ones I've been able to work out. One is soon, though I can't be precise. The approximate date I've calculated could be today, or it could be a week from today. I surmise that the next is weeks after that, the next days after that. But there is something here that I can't discern, or, I can't discern correctly, apparently."

"What is it?" Wesley asked, envious that Giles had received the more interesting side of the parchment.

"Tell me what you make from _this_," Giles placed his finger lightly over a small paragraph in the middle.

"There will be no–" Wesley's head sprung up and concern was evident in his eyes. "How can this be right?"

Giles shook his head. "I don't know."

"Is it referring to–?"

Paling, the older ex-Watcher despondently replied, "I think so."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Honestly?" Giles replied, taking his cold cup of tea from earlier in the day and adding a little kick to it. "I'd suggest that we get down on our bloody knees and pray that we've read this wrong."

"Yo, guys!" Gunn called up, wiping an unpleasant smelling grime from his forehead. "Time to hit it. Get whatever you need, Cordy's getting the cavalry prepped as we speak."

Wesley replied that they would be down in a moment. Placing the scroll in a drawer in his desk, he suggested, "We finish this later. For all we know this could be wrong or, contextually, it could make more sense. We wait until we've translated the surrounding paragraphs and then we decide on a course of action and whether to tell them."

Giles agreed and the two left the room, the scroll seeming to have its' own presence.

[]

"That's what it said," a frightened translator told an impatient Lilah.

"You're... _Absolutely_ certain? You're not thinking of a different scroll? You're thinking of the vampire with a soul, not a King or an army?" she asked coolly, her voice liquid and menacing. "I've had to dispose of several good translators today over this. I'd like to keep the numbers down." She leaned over the desk and towards him, baring her teeth as a crocodile does to tell its' pray of impending doom. "Well, no I wouldn't, but that's the price you have to pay for answers and a reasonable lunch break."

"I'm positive."

"Well, thank you," Lilah said, her tone much more pleasant, but still unerringly businesslike. She dismissed the translator, picked up her things and left the room. Walking down the hall, she said to herself, "That makes things much easier, even after today's... Upset."

"What things?" Gavin asked, jumping into step with her from out of nowhere.

Lilah smirked. "All in time."

[]

Angel stood at the doorway. Looking around, he made sure that everyone had a weapon and went over the plan. "Everyone ready?"

"We're good. Lead the way," Fred replied.

"Okay. Fred, Wes," he tilted his head at them, "I want you two with Giles and Buffy. You're taking the human. I know he might not seem like much of a threat, but he's with Sahjhan and we've got to assume that there's a reason for that. Gunn, Cordy, Faith, I want you three with me. This guy means serious business, we can't mess around here. Get in, get him cornered, get him in the urn."

"Is there a chant?" Cordy asked. "Because I'm not so good with the Latin and demon languages designed for people with more than one tongue, and since you're going to have your hands full and Wes won't be with us, if there is you should probably give it to me now and let me do a warm up."

"You don't have to chant, don't worry," he reassured her with a bright smile. She returned it with her patented grin that seemed to light up the entire room.

"Ready to move out, guys?" Faith asked, moving towards Gunn, Cordy and Angel. "'Cause I don't do too good with stragglers."

"Okay, we have no idea who this person is or why they're working with Sahjhan. We hold them down, try to get some answers," said Buffy. "Got another map for Angel, Wes?"

Wesley nodded. "He has it."

"Good, let's get going."

[]

Buffy didn't know how she had managed to split up with the group. She thought she had seen something reflective about fifty metres away and had instructed the group to stay there for a second, but just as she had gone deep enough into the brush that she could no longer see Wesley, Fred or Giles, she heard their hurried footsteps. Surely they hadn't been running away from her? What were they, five?

"This isn't hide and seek guys!" she called out, then mumbled, "And if it was, my Slayer senses would find and then kick your asses."

Wishing that it had been her, not Giles holding the map, she ventured the way that they had been planning to go before the rest of the group disappeared.

[]

Giles felt uneasy walking through the forest, looking for their target. Something about the mission made the air buzz ominously.

Buffy, straggling behind and somewhat distracted, stopped. "Hold on guys, I think I see something man made, just let me check it out."

"Do you need us to come with you?" Wesley asked.

Buffy didn't look away from her point, "No, it's okay, it's not far, I'll be back in a sec."

A minute later, she returned. "Okay guys, we're good to go. It was nothing, just a trick of the light, I guess. Or a squirrel. Giles, are there demon squirrels that change shape?"

Giles ignored her question but made a mental note to look it up later due to pure curiosity. "This way," he pointed to his left, investigating the map and then holding it out to Buffy. "Hold this for a second."

Buffy jumped backwards, startled, and Giles returned the map to his jacket. "I heard something behind us," she pressed urgently, pointing the way that Giles had, "_Everybody run, now!_"

They didn't notice when the Slayer disappeared mid-sprint into thin air behind them.

[]

Angel, Cordy, Gunn and Faith slinked through the forest, closing in on the blue dot on the map. Angel weilded a longsword, Faith a bow and arrow and a dagger, Gunn a sword similar to Angel's and Cordy an interestingly-stained axe.

"We gettin' close Angel?" asked Faith, constantly scanning her surroundings with trained skill. "'Cause I know this is your guy, but I'd love to get a few punches in, myself."

"Gunn has the map."

"Yeah, we're gettin' close, everybody get your weapons out," Gunn said, removing his sword and grasping the hilt. He sliced through an approaching string of vines, revelling in the clean cut. "Angel, Cordy, you guys know what to do."

"Got it," said Cordy as she and Angel began to draw a pentagram in the undisturbed patch of dust that they had found. She then proceeded to pull out some candles from the bag slung over her shoulder and hurriedly lit them. "Where?" she asked, cutting her hand and letting the blood drip into the middle of the pentagram.

"South." Gunn pointed to his right.

"_Corpus Granok Sahjhan demonicus!_" exclaimed Angel.

"Alright, alright, you don't need to yell," said Sahjhan, appearing a metre in front of them and in the middle of the circle. Angel lunged forward, swinging his sword at Sahjhan's head before he realised that it would hurt him. Just before it made contact, he lifted his hand and caught the sword.

Surprise was obvious on his face when it stayed still in his grasp. Smiling grimly, Sahjhan flipped the sword and sent Angel flying into the air. Faith was next, running forward and lifting her leg in a flying kick. The demon intercepted her move and jerked her foot at an angle that caused a snap that rang out through the entire forest.

Faith cried out in pain, swearing uncontrollably. Angel raised himself and moved in front of the other three to stop the uninjured two from following through with the attacks that they had just been about to execute.

"Guys, leave, now," he said, forcing them backwards by retreating.

"You're freakin' kidding me! You're dreaming Angel, we're not going anywh–"

"FAITH, GET THEM OUT OF HERE, NOW. GO HELP EVERYONE ELSE," he yelled without turning around, and heard to his relief that she had obliged. He threw his keys over his head in one fluid motion and heard them land in someones' hand. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded of the demon, "Why are you trying to kill us?"

"I'm trying to make the world a better place," he said, then looked at the vampire as though he were deficient. "_Evil_, chaos, does that mean anything to you?"

"It used to."

"Oh, God, get the tissues, here come the tears. I think I see one now, just let me just get that for you," said Sahjhan, propelling his fist into Angel's face. Angel hurtled backwards. He hadn't realised that Sahjhan would be so strong, and he felt fear that his plan would fail. He wished that Faith would hurry up. He could only keep Sahjhan in the circle for so long.

[]

"Okay," Faith said to Cordy and Gunn once out of earshot. "We go back in how long?"

"He said a minute. If he doesn't get anything good then, we trap him," Cordy replied. "Which is a pity, because Pro-Active just doesn't have 'before' shots that terrible anymore."

"_Aaand_ that's a minute of my life I'll never get back," said Faith, running forward. She faltered because of the pain in her ankle, but powered through it. It wasn't broken, she'd had enough breaks to know that. Still, she was thankful that she was only sprinting the distance that she was, if she wasn't a Slayer she wouldn't have been able to do this.

Thanking a higher power that Angel still had Sahjhan in the circle, she opened the lid of the Resikhian Urn.

"Don't forget to tuck in your knees, big boy," she spat, placing the urn on the ground.

"What? What are you doing?" Sahjhan spluttered, and then he was gone.

Angel smiled satisfactorily and then fell to the ground, limp.

[]

Buffy had almost called out for Giles several times, but decided that remaining incognito was more important to the mission. She wasn't scared of the darkness, but the things in it tended to make her a little jumpy. Stopping dead in her tracks after about ten minutes of solid wandering, Buffy came face to face with... Herself. Automatically, she extended her fist to punch whatever was imitating her form. But to no avail, her fist went right through the copycat.

"What are you?" she asked, trying the verbal thing before she figured out how to pummel this... Ghost?

"I'm the ghost of Christmas past," she replied patronisingly.

"Very funny, really, ha, ha, but really, you're both copying my outfit _and_ my face, so I'd tell me what's going on or I'll–"

"You'll what? Punch me?" the figure walked through Buffy, who gasped at the unpleasant feeling it caused her. "Haven't you realised?" the Buffy doppelganger asked with condescension. "This wasn't how it was meant to happen. You're supposed to remember, you're supposed to be somewhere else."

The woman moved forward, distress painted across her face. When she spoke, her voice mimicked Buffy's exactly. _"Wherever I was... I was happy. At peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time... didn't mean anything... nothing had form... but I was still me, you know? And I was warm... and I was loved... and I was finished. Complete. I don't understand about theology or dimensions, or... any of it, really... but I think I was in heaven_." She turned to face the real Buffy and gauge her reaction before she spoke her next time. _"And now I'm not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out... by my friends. Everything here is... hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch... this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that... knowing what I've lost..."_

The real Buffy turned as white as a ghost.

"Ring a bell?" her counterpart asked.

Buffy stuttered, the images exploding back into her head felt as though they were searing hot. "I..."

She didn't even hear the footsteps behind her, ignorant of the rock hanging above her head until her attacker brought it crashing down onto her skull.

"I'd say I've earned the right to cast the first stone, wouldn't you?" Caleb asked the conscious, smiling, incorporeal Buffy. "Should we kill her?" he asked, holding the stone to his side.

The First smiled. "No. I felt that. I was all inside of her–"

"Now, now, you cheatin' on me?" asked Caleb with a sardonic half-smile.

She smiled. "We don't kill her. Trust me, after that shock, pretty soon she'll want to do it herself. And you know I do so love it when they struggle."

Caleb nodded. "Sahjhan?"

"Unimportant. At this point, everything is where it needs to be."

The two began to depart, but were stopped in their tracks by a group consisting of five unknown people and the barely-standing vampire with a soul.

"Okay, who are you?" Cordy asked, lifting her weapon.

"I'm a vessel, just doin' the Lords work," he said reverently. Without warning, he shoved Cordelia aside with all of his strength. Her head barely missed a tree trunk and she skidded across the dirt. Angel and Wesley ran towards her to make sure that she was alright.

"Cordy? Are you hurt?" Angel asked, holding onto her left arm and lifting her gently.

Cordelia stood and patted herself down to rid the dirt from her clothes. "I'm fine, just... Ow. I think I preferred the monk dude in that movie that was big on the self-flagellation, because I don't like the idea of my head playing tips with that tree trunk."

"Buffy," Giles said, running forward. He turned her over. "She's unconscious."

"Get her back to the car," said Fred, running over to her. "Oh God, it's her head." She addressed Giles. "Do you think she'll be able to recover from this? Because if this were a normal person they'd already be dead from this kind of blunt trauma."

Giles seemed to be struggling within himself for a moment. "Get her to the hospital."

[]

Buffy trudged into Angels' room. He was laying on the bed as battered and bruised as she was. For a second, both tried to pretend that moving normally was no task, but Buffy moved forward and, with an inward groan, placed herself on the bed. The movement hurt her joints and she had to use a substantial amount of strength to make no noise.

It had been hours since she had taken a blow to the head and at least one hour since she got back from the hospital (much to the dismay of the doctors who had insisted on keeping her all night), but she still ached all over and it was difficult for her to move. It didn't help that whoever had attacked her had dropped the enormous rock they used to knock her out with on the back of her knee, which had mostly healed, but it still caused her slight pain to stand and move her leg.

"Good thing we're superheroes, huh?" she said, laughing hollowly, then regretting it when her ribs ached in response.

"Yeah, I didn't think it was possible for me to get any deader than I already am," he replied.

Hesitantly, Buffy laid down on the spare space. Angel didn't object, and if he did she doubted he felt inclined to move.

"Are you feeling better?"

Buffy turned her head and nodded, the bandage slipping down slightly. "I'll be healed up in a few hours, I guess. Some light bruising. I don't think I've kept a bruise for more than a couple of hours since my eighteenth birthday. I mean, I assume I haven't. Unless I fight super strong priests a lot, which would make me feel slightly better about my situation." This was a lie. Her situation had nothing to do with the priest.

"Yeah, I–"

"You think the church would be congratulating me, stopping the spread of the soulless Hell demons they fought so hard to destroy, or something."

"You've read the bible?" Angel asked in surprise.

She shrugged. "No, but there's always a battle."

"Couldn't say, it's been a while since I've touched a bible myself," he said dryly.

Buffy suddenly looked intrigued."I didn't realise bibles burnt vampires."  
"They don't, they're just really long." He grinned. "I'd need eternal life to get through The Good book."

Buffy tried to smile and, unconscious of the physical discomfort, propped her head up on her arm. "Surely they have cliffnotes for that kind of thing nowadays?"

"It's possible, but 'Ye Olde Bible: for Dummies' always felt like a bit of cop-out for me."

"I was in heaven," she blurted, dropping the act and letting her words drip with the numbness she felt.

"What?"

"I was in heaven. And now I'm not."

For a second Angel looked thoughtful. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. "When did you remember?"

Now that she was being honest, Buffy found it difficult to meet Angel's eyes. "I told me. Not _me_, me, a different me. She was in the woods. She said that this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, and... Something, did I understand, and I remembered." Buffy snorted bitterly. "It felt like someone smashed a rock over my head, at least, until someone really smashed a rock over my head. Then it didn't feel like anything. But I remember now. '_Everything here is... hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch... this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that... knowing what I've lost...'_" she repeated, looking more despondent than Angel had ever seen her. "I've never felt so out of place. That I didn't realise it before, when now, just... Existing... It feels like I'm being pulled by a thousand different hands to different places, and I don't belong in any of them."

Angel looked on her, stunned into silence.

"I can't... feel. And I don't mean that the needles they put in my head have got me dizzy. There's regret and bitterness and... sorrow, inside of me, and I can't fight it. I'm not battling because I've done something wrong and I'm unhappy. Every breath I take is another chuckle at my expense, because they're up there and I'm not. Because I don't get to feel peace. Because I don't get to feel anything. I just..."

Buffy's words were cut off by Angel's mouth on hers. He seemed to have forgotten about the pain that this was supposed to be causing his body, because in a figurative heartbeat he had rolled over and lifted the Slayer on top of him. His hands rested on the small of her back, which he stroked with his thumbs. Her body reacted much more quickly than her mind did; her arms around his neck as soon as he began to roll her over. Their kiss deepened and the scene quickly became more heated.

Buffy moved against Angel, their bodies locking together perfectly. His large hands held her small ones as he rolled on top of her and held himself up to relieve any pressure from her body. Although he knew that she was much too strong to be crushed by his weight, the reflex was automatic and it was not until Buffy swept his arms out from their posts and pulled the vampire closer that he truly lost all inhibitions and gave himself over to the passion he felt, the pain she felt. The despair that she spread through him like wildfire, right through to the end of his fingertips.

[]

"The first date on this," Fred said, examining the scroll closely. Wesley laid a hand reassuringly on her shoulder as he watched her think. "You weren't too far off Giles, it's... Uh, you sure you guys translated this thing right?"

They both nodded. "Fairly sure," said Wesley.

"If I'm correct, which, y'know, not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty sure that I am, that means that this one... Must have happened today."

The three looked at each other.

Fred grimaced. "Can it be true? '_There will be no birth, only death'._"

* * *

Thanks for reading! First of all, sorry I haven't updated in so long. You know how I said that my computer was fixed? It broke as soon as it was fixed, O cruel fate. So, sorry.  
I didn't put an intro at the beginning of this chapter because I figured we'd get straight into it. Firstly, I've only seen seasons three and four of Angel once, so I tried to make everything as logical as possible. Sahjhan is in the Resikhian urn which Angel took from Wolfram and Hart when he went to see the girl in the white room there. Faith got the Nyazian scroll. Buffy remembers that she was in heaven and, of course, leans on Angel. Caleb and The First have paired up with Sahjhan through Wolfram and Hart for an early attack. There are a few more things, but I'll leave them for now because I've got to have something to keep mysterious. They shall be elaborated on next chapter, which, God, let's hope will be updated sooner than this one was.  
Reviews are wonderful. Love it? Hate it? Want to throw a smelly shoe at me for taking so long to update? Let me know!


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